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DOING RIGHT 
A COURSE IN CHARACTER BUILDING 




Taylor, 



He Leadeth Me Beside the Still Waters, 

Courtesy of The Curtis Publishing Company. 



DOING RIGHT 



A COURSE IN CHARACTER BUILDING 



BY 
E. HERSHEY SNEATH, Ph.D., LL.D. 

PROFESSOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION AND RELIGIOUS EDUCATION IN 
YALE UNIVERSITY 

GEORGE HODGES, D.D., LL.D. 

DEAN OF THE EPISCOPAL THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL, CAMBRIDGE 

AND 
HENRY HALLAM TWEEDY, M. A. 

PROFESSOR OF PRACTICAL THEOLOGY IN YALE UNIVERSITY 



PHILADELPHIA 
UPLIFT PUBLISHING COMPANY 






Copyright, i 91 9, By UPLIFT PUBLISHING CO. 



NOV I 

©CI.A535660 

( 



THE COURSE: AND HOW TO USE IT 

This Course of Study embodies a graded system of ele- 
mentary, moral, and religious training for the home and 
private school. It consists of 142 short lessons, containing 
subject-matter relating to the virtues and vices peculiar to 
the age of children of the respective school grades. 

The Course utilizes the story method of teaching. 

The scheme of virtues and vices was determined by means 
of a questionnaire circulated among the grade teachers of 
the public schools of ten cities, and by means of a careful 
study of the moral and religious unfolding of the child in 
the light of psychology. 

The indirect or story method was adopted in preference 
to the more formal didactic method, because of the results 
of a questionnaire circulated among a thousand grade 
teachers, nearly 95 per cent of whom favored the indirect 
method. This almost unanimous verdict has the sanction, 
also, of child psychology. It has the advantage of securing 
the attention of the pupil, which is one of the essential 
conditions of successful instruction and training, as well as 
the very important added advantage of teaching by example. 

The formal, direct method in the moral and religious 
training of children should not be entirely ignored, and a 
modicum of precept has been introduced into the Course 
in the form of wise sayings of eminent writers, mottoes, and 
scriptural texts and selections. 




viii THE COURSE: AND HOW TO USE IT 

The literature embodying the scheme was chosen with 
great care from the Old and New Testaments, and from 
Christian and ethical literature. Much of the material has 
been rewritten. There are, also, a large number of original 
contributions. The subject-matter is graded according to 
vocabulary, interest, and moral and religious content. 

Special attention has been given to the literary quality of 
the matter chosen, and much of it has been illustrated by 
some of the finest examples in the field of art. The entire 
scheme has for its aim the building up of the child and youth 
in Christian character. There is, of course, no denomina- 
tional bias whatever. 

A graded scheme of virtues peculiar to children in the 
period of life represented by each school grade is embodied in 
the selections, and the biblical commands and sanctions given. 

In the home, the time and duration of the lessons should 
be arranged to suit the convenience of parents and children, 
but parental supervision should be given regularly and at 
least once a week. Questions are appended to all the chief 
selections, which not only bring out the salient features of 
each lesson, but the moral also. In bringing out the moral 
of the story, the parent and teacher should avoid exhorta- 
tion. There is a tendency to exhort after reading a moral 
story to, or with, children. A little wise counsel may be 
necessary and desirable, but this is provided for in the 
scriptural and other selections following each lesson. While 
it is important, in questioning the pupil on the lesson, to 
bring out the moral, it is well to allow the child, with the 
aid of these brief quotations, to do his own moralizing. He 



THE COURSE: AND HOW TO USE IT ix 

will do it, as a rule, with much more effectiveness than with 
the aid of parent and teacher. 

Provision is made for memory work in the scriptural and 
choice literary quotations appended to the chief selections. 
It would be well for parent or teacher to require the pupil 
to memorize such passages. This is especially desirable, for 
they deal with the moral taught in the lesson. It also ac- 
quaints the pupil with some of the most important passages 
of scripture and with rare portions of literature. 

This Course is planned and graded so as to be adapted to 
children between the ages of six and fourteen years. It 
carries the pupil from the period when the personal, home, 
and school virtues, with their corresponding moral and re- 
ligious sanctions, are specially emphasized, on to the period 
of development from childhood into youth. This latter 
period is of particular importance. There is, at this time, a 
more decided consciousness of freedom, a more pronounced 
consciousness of selfhood than heretofore. This means 
growing personal initiative, more self-direction, gradual 
formation of ideals, which are substituted in a measure for 
previous parental authority. These ideals are embodied, as 
a rule, in personages, and there is a decided tendency to hero 
worship during these years. Hence examples of noble char- 
acters become very effective, so that biography should play 
a conspicuous part in the moral and religious education of 
boys and girls at this period. It is also a time of marked 
sex development, of social unfolding, of the development of 
the "gang," or group spirit, and of the altruistic impulses, 
so that it is of vital importance that examples of noble living 



x THE COURSE: AND HOW TO USE IT 

be brought before them to help establish their ideals and to 
help mold their character and conduct. 

The lessons in the more advanced parts of the Course 
contain short biographies of many of the noblest examples 
of men and women in all walks of life. These cannot fail 
to prove an inspiration to right living at this important and 
impressionable period. The lives of true warriors, artists, 
missionaries, merchants, statesmen, inventors, scientists, 
authors, patriots, and philanthropists — heroes and heroines 
of the noblest type — are presented for study and emulation. 
These characters reflect the highest bodily, intellectual, so- 
cial, economic, aesthetic, and religious virtues. The virtues 
are not presented as abstract principles or ideas, but are 
clothed with life. They live and move and have their be- 
ing in human lives, and thus arrest the attention of the 
idealizing and active youth. The stories of these living 
characters are supplemented also by noble examples in fic- 
tion — in both prose and poetry. Lessons of warning are 
also placed before the pupil, for such warning is neces- 
sary in our efforts to establish boys and girls in Christian 
character. 

The following scheme of virtues and vices is dealt with 
in this Course: 

Virtues Vices 

The Bodily* Life 

Cleanliness and Tidiness Uncleanliness and Untidiness 

Self-Control and Prudence Lack of Self-Control and Im- 

prudence 



THE COURSE: AND HOW TO USE IT 



XI 



Exercise 

Physical Courage 
Temperance 

Chastity 



Indifference to and Neglect of 

Exercise 
Cowardice 
Intemperance 
Smoking 



Industry 
Accuracy 
Thoroughness 
Perseverance 
Patience 
Self-Reliance 

Love of Truth and Knowledge 
Wisdom — Right Use of Knowl 
edge 



The Intellectual Life 
Indolence 



Inaccuracy 
Superficiality 
Instability 
Impatience 

Dependence on Others 
Prejudice 

Foolishness — Wrong Use of 
Knowledge 



The Social Life — The Family — Relation to Parents 



Obedience 

Respect 

Truthfulness 

Honesty 

Good Manners 

Helpfulness — Assisting in Home. 

Duties 
Love — Filial Affection 
Gratitude 
Loyalty 



Disobedience 

Disrespect 

Untruthfulness 

Dishonesty 

Bad Manners 

Unhelpfulness 

Lack of Filial Affection 

Ingratitude 

Disloyalty 



The Social Life — The Family — Relation of Brothers and Sisters 

Justice Injustice 

Truthfulness Untruthfulness 

Honesty Dishonesty 




xii THE COURSE: AND HOW TO USE IT 

Kindness Unkindness 

Good Manners Bad Manners 

Generosity Selfishness 

Love Envy, Jealousy, Covetousness 

The Social Life — Relation to School Teachers 

Obedience Disobedience 

Truthfulness Untruthfulness 

Honesty Dishonesty 

Good Manners Bad Manners 

Cooperation Lack of Cooperation 

Friendliness Unfriendliness 

The Social Life — School — Relation to School Mates 

Justice Injustice 

Truthfulness Untruthfulness 

Honesty Dishonesty 

Kindness Unkindness 

Good Manners Bad Manners 

Generosity Selfishness 

The Social Life — Relation to the Community 

Justice Injustice 

Truthfulness Untruthfulness 

Honesty Dishonesty 

Courtesy Discourtesy 

Benevolence Selfishness 

Public Spirit Indifference to Public Welfare 

Heroism Cowardice 

The Social Life — Relation to Animals 

Kindness to Animals Cruelty to Animals 



THE COURSE: AND HOW TO USE IT 



xm 



The Economic Life 



Industry 

Order 

Ambition 

Patience 

Perseverance 

Economy 

Prudence 

Honesty 

Courage and Self -Reliance 



Indolence 
Lack of Order 
Lack of Ambition 
Impatience 
Instability 
Wastefulness 
Imprudence 
Dishonesty 

Lack of Courage and Self-Re- 
liance 



The Political Life 



Patriotism 
Obedience to Law 
Political Honesty 
Love of Liberty 
Political Courage 
Love of Peace 
Political Interest and Zeal 



Lack of Patriotism 
Disobedience to Law 
Political Dishonesty 
Subserviency 
Lack of Political Courage 
Love of Strife 

Political Indifference — Shirking 
Political Duties 



The Esthetic Life 



Love of Beauty in 


Indifference to Beauty in 


Nature 


Nature 


Art 


Art 


Conduct 


Conduct 


Character 


Character 




The Religious Life 


Obedience 


Disobedience 


Faith 


Unbelief 


Love 


Lack of Love 



xiv THE COURSE : AND HOW TO USE IT 

Reverence Irreverence 

Humility Pride 

Gratitude Ingratitude 

Prayer 
Praise 

In conclusion, it may be added that this Course does not 
aim at teaching a Science of Ethics or a System of Theology. 
The years covered by the Course are not the time for teach- 
ing such Sciences, which call for a far greater maturity of 
mind. All that is aimed at is systematically to establish 
children and youth in habits of will and in right ideals and 
forms of conduct — in such character, conduct, and ideals 
as are genuinely Christian; in short, Christian Nurture is 
the aim of this Course. 

In introducing it for home and school instruction, it is 
earnestly hoped that it may adequately meet a great need 
in moral and religious training. 



We are permit ced by the kindness of the publishing houses named below to use 
the following selections: "All Things Beautiful" from The Land of Song (Silver, 
Burdett & Company); "The Quails," "The Boy who Recommended Himself," 
and "The Jack-o '-Lantern" from Ethics for Children, by Mrs. Ella Lyman Cabor; 
"How the King was Cured" from Graded Literature Reader, and "A Child's Prayer" 
from Graded Poetry, Third Year (Charles E. Merrill Company); "How the Children 
were Fed" from Character Building Reader (Hinds, INLble & Eldredge); Extracts 
from The William Henry Letters, by Abby Morton Diaz (Lothrop, Lee & Shepard 
Company); "The Legend of the Dipper" from For the Children's Hour (Milton 
Bradley Company); "Night and Day" from The Posy Ring (Charles Scribner's 
Sons); "The Prodigal Son," "The Year One," "Shepherds and Singing Angels," 
and "The Visit of the Wise Men" from When the King Came, by George Hodges 
(Houghton Mifflin Company); "God is Good" from Under the Spell of the Nursery 
Lamp (Desmond, FitzGerald, Inc.); "The Story of a Poet and Story Writer" from 
Sketches of American Authors, by Jennie Ellis Keysor (Educational Publishing 
Company); "An x\mbitious Youth" from Winning Their Way, by John T. Faris 
(Frederick A. Stokes Company); "The Story of Patrick Henry" from Historic 
Americans, by Elbridge S. Brooks, "Four Pioneers" from Architects of Fate, by 
Orison Swett Marden, and "A Truth Seeker" from Poor Boys Who Became Famous, 
by Sarah K. Bolton (Thomas Y. Crowell & Company); "The Red Cross Evangel 
of Mercy" from Heroes of Progress in America, by Charles Morris (J. B. Lippincott 
Company; "A Working Monk" and "The Great Reformer" from Saints and Heroes, 
by George Hodges (Henry Holt & Company); "George Washington" from Heroes 
Every Child Should Know, adapted by H. W. Mabie (Doubleday, Page & Company) ; 
"The Story of a Great Artist" from Sketches of Great Painters, by Colonna Murray 
Dallin (Silver, Burdett & Company); "The Christians to the Lions!" from Beric the 
Briton, by George A. Henty (Blackie & Son); "A Friend of the Indians" from 
Servants of the King, by Robert E. Speer (Missionary Education Movement of the 
United States and Canada); "Prudent and Self-Reliant Young Americans" from 
Captains of Industry, by James Parton (Houghton Mifflin Company); "Nathan 
Hale" from American' Heroes and Heroines, by Pauline Carrington Bouve (Lothrop, 
Lee & Shepard Company), "Be Strong" by Maltbie Davenport Babcock (Charles 
Scribner's Sons). 

E, HERSHEY SNEATH, 

GEORGE HODGES, 

HENRY HALLAM TWEEDY. 



CONTENTS 

PART I 

The Pig Brother Laura E. Richards . 

A Mother's Story Selected 

The Story of Ruth Henry Hallam Tweedy 

A Boy Who Wanted to Learn . . Henry Hallam Tweedy 

David and Jonathan Henry Hallam Tweedy 

National Hymn Samuel F. Smith . . 

A Great Painter of Animals . . Frances Elizabeth Chutter 

The Prodigal Son George Hodges .... 



PAGE 

3 
7 

10 
16 

22 
25 

27 
33 



PART II 

Cleanliness Charles and Mary Lamb . . 43 

How the Birds Build Their Nests Selected 44 

The Childhood of Mozart . . . Selected ....... 47 

How Miller was Cured .... Selected 53 

The Story of Moses George Hodges 58 

I. The Prince and Shepherd. 
II. Moses Leading the People Out of Egypt. 

III. A Glad Song. 

IV. Gifts for the House of God. 
V. The Story of the Manna. 

All Things Beautiful . . . . . Cecil Frances Alexander . 73 
A Boy and His Alphabet . . . L.M.Dalton ..... 76 
The Lord's Prayer The Bible . . .... 77 

PART III 

Billy's Best Friends Punish Him . Warren Douglas .... 81 
The Courage Country .... Selected * . 99 



xviii CONTENTS 

The Legend of the Dipper . . . Carolyn S. Bailey .... 103 

Dan's Dream Henry Hallam Tweedy . . 107 

King David's Cup of Water . . Henry Hallam Tweedy . . 117 
How One Man Loved His City . Henry Hallam Tweedy . .121 

Two Prayers 128 

Father in Heaven, We Thank Thee Selected 129 

Martin Luther's Letter to His Son L. Maria Child .... 130 

We are Seven William Wordsworth . . . 133 

A Song Unto the Lord .... The Bible ...... 136 

A Prayer 137 



PART IV 

The Man at the Helm .... Selected 141 

The Story of Daniel Selected 145 

I. The Meaning of the King's 

Dream. 
II. The Fiery Furnace. 

III. The Writing on the Wall. 

IV. The Lions' Den. 

Little Jack Francois Coppee . . . . 163 

The Last Lesson in French . . . Alphonse Daudet . . . . 169 

The William Henry Letters . . Abby Morton Diaz . 174 

I. Gapper Skyblue's Basket. 
II. The Two Betseys' Garden. 
III. Paying the Cost. 

Maria Millis Selected .... . ' . 181 

Lord Cornwallis' Knee Buckles . Williams H. Elson , . . 183 

David and Saul ...... Henry Hallam Tweedy . . 187 

A Thought ........ Robert Louis Stevenson . . 192 

A Grace at Table Anonymous 192 

God is Good Anonymous 193 

The Earth is the Lord's .... The Bible 193 



CONTENTS 



xix 



PART V 



A Song from the Suds . . 
A Shepherd Boy and a Giant 
The Boy Who Works . 
How the King Was Cured 



The Jack-o'-Lantem . . 
The Leak in the Dike 
The Broken Flowerpot . 
Holmes's School Days 
How the Children were Fed 
The Blue Boy .... 
The Year One .... 
Christmas Everywhere . 
Shepherds and Singing Angels 
The Visit of the Wise Men . 
A Prayer 



Louisa M. Alcott .... 197 

George Hodges . . . . . 198 

Eliza Cook 202 

Harry Pratt Judson a ltd Ida 

C. Bender 202 

Jacob Abbott 203 

Phoebe Cary 207 

Edward Bulwer-Lytton . . 213 

Ellen M. Cyr 220 

John de Lief de 223 

Frances Elizabeth Chutter . 226 

George Hodges 231 

Phillips Brooks . . .• . 235 

George Hodges 236 

George Hodges 244 

/. E. Leeson . . . . . 250 



PART VI 



The Story of a Poet and Story 
Writer 

An Ambitious Youth . . . . . 

True Friends 

Home, Sweet Home 

The Union of the Trees .... 

If You Were Toiling Up a Weary 
Hill 

A Prayer 

Words of Wisdom 

Truth and Falsehood 

Romola's Waking 

Love for All 

The Good Samaritan 



Jennie Ellis Keysor . . . 255 

John T. Faris 265 

Francis Bacon . . . . . 274 

John Howard Payne . . . 275 

From u The J ataka' . . . 277 

Susan Coolid^c .... 279 

279 

The Bible 280 

280 

George Eliot 281 

Frederick Schiller . . . . 292 

The Bible ...... 292 



XX 



CONTENTS 



The Hero of Khartum . 
To Do and Die . . '. . 
Four Pioneers . . . . • 
Great Effects .... 
The Landing of the Pilgrim 
Fathers in New England 
Men Who Loved Nature 
A Christmas Carol . . 
The Story of the Christ . 
Founding Empires . . . 
Our Master 



Selected .... 
Alfred Tennyson . 
Orison Swett Marden 
Francis Bacon . 



Felicia Hemans 
P. E. Quinn . . 
Josiah Gilbert Holland 
George Hodges . 
Napoleon Bonaparte 
John Greenleaf Whitlier 



293 

302 
302 
310 

3ii 
000 

3i4 

322 

3 2 4 
345 
346 



PART VII 



Cyrus and His Grandfather . . 

A Truth Seeker 

Love of Truth 

The Love of Home 

" Ladders to Heaven " .... 

How to Look 

The Hero-Priest 

The Red Cross Evangel of Mercy 
"The Greatest Thing in the World" 

A Working Monk 

Doing One's Best 

An Architect of Fortune .... 
Toiling Upward 



Maxims of Economy 



Be Strong! 

Ode for Washington's Birthday 



L. M. Dalton . . . 
Sarah K. Bolton . . 
Theodore Parker . . 
Daniel Webster . . 
Juliana Horatia Ewing 
Edward Everett Hale . 
John C. Lambert . . 
Charles Morris . . . 
The Bible .... 
George Hodges . . . 
Ralph Waldo Emerson 
Charles Morris . . . 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
Marcus Tullius Cicero. 
Benjamin Franklin. 
Samuel Johnson .... 
Edmund Burke. 
The Bible. 

Maltbie Davenport Babcock . 
Oliver Wendell Holmes . . 



349 

35o 
359 
360 
361 
367 
367 
374 
381 
382 
386 
387 
393 



394 



394 
395 



CONTENTS 



xxi 



A Great Man 

George Washington .... 

The First Place 

A Patriot's Words . . . . . 
Talleyrand and Arnold . . . 
A Host in the Sunshine . . . 
The Story of a Great Artist 
A Gift of God 

From Cowardice to Courage . 

To Die for Truth 

" The Christians to the Lions!" . 

Our Service 

Youth's Prayer in Verse .... 



James Russell Lowell 
Hamilton W. Mabie 
Henry Lee ■. . . 
George Washington 
Selected .... 
Bliss Carman . . 
Colonna Murray Dallin 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
R. C. Gillie 
George Hodges 
Jean Paul Richter 
George A . Henty . 
The Bible . . . 
Washington Gladden 



397 
397 
408 
409 
409 
412 
412 
424 

424 

43 2 
433 
439 
440 



PART VIII 



A Fight with a Demon .... 

The Great Reformer 

Truth 

Joys of Home 

The Prodigal Son 

A Friend of the Indians .... 

The Real Good 

St. Francis and the Soldan . . . 

Words of Wisdom 

John Little John 

Prudent and Self-Reliant Young 

Americans 

Prudence 

The Story of Patrick Henry . . 
Lovers and Defenders of Liberty 
Dear Land of All My Love . . . 
Nathan Hale 



John B. Gough . 
George Hodges . 
Martin Luther . 
John Bowring . 
The Bible . . 
Robert E. Speer 
John Boyle O'Rielly 
C. R. Peers . . 
The Bible . . 
Charles Mackay 

James Parton . 
Marcus Tullius Cicero 
Elbridge S. Brooks 
Daniel Webster . . 
Sidney Lanier . . . 
Pauline Carrington Bouve 



443 
45 2 
464 
464 

465 
468 

475 
476 

485 
485 

487 
496 

497 
506 
506 
5o7 



XX11 



CONTEXTS 



For Country's Sake . . Thomas Moore . . 

Oliver Cromwell . . Xathaniel Hawthorne 

True Liberty ...... Lord Mansfield 

London, 1802 . William Wordsworth 

Prayer for Beaut}- ...... Socrates .... 

What is Prayer? James Montgomery 

The Pharisee and the Publican . The Bible . . . 

The Song of the Minster . . William Canton 

Oh Come, Let Us Sing! ... The Bible . . . 

Worship the King! . . . Robert Grant . . 

A Prayer .... . . 



5i3 
5i4 
521 
522 
522 

S 2 3 
525 
525 
53i 
532 
533 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

"He Leadeth Me Beside the Still Waters" Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"Hello, Brother!" 5 

"But Ruth Clung to Naomi" 12 

"No One Else Could Paint Dogs with Such Loving, Trustful Faces" 31 

"Then the Prodigal Thought of Home" 36 

"He Had Compassion, and Greeted Him" 38 

" Every Look Was Fixed on His Nimble Little Fingers" 50 

"She Saw a Box Floating, and in the Box Was a Baby" 59 

"And They Two Went in to See the King" 62 

"They Made a Calf Out of Gold" 67 

"In the Morning There Was Food Upon the Ground" 71 

"All Things Bright and Beautiful, The Lord Made Them All " . . 74 
"The Doctor Felt His Pulse and Asked to See His Tongue" .... 88 
"He Reached Out His Hand for the Dipper, and Begged for a 

Drink of Clear, Cold Water" 104 

"So He Held It Up in His Hands and Prayed" 120 

Walls and Towers of Jerusalem 125 

Martin Luther's Home 131 

"Still the Brave Fellow at the Helm Kept to His Post" 143 

"Then Daniel Told the King What the Dream Had Been, and 

What It Meant" 149 

"Lo, I See Four Men Loose Walking in the Midst of the Fire, 

and They Have No Hurt" 154 

"Daniel Told the King that He . . . Would Explain the Awful 

Words" 157 

"Then Daniel was Put Into the Lions' Den" 160 

"In the Goodness of His Heart He Took Off the Wooden Shoe" 166 

"And Wrote in Large Letters, 'VIVE LA FRANCE!' " 173 

xxiii 



xxiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Keep Them to Remember Me By" 185 

"David Called to Him, and Told Him of His Escape" 189 

"It Struck the Giant Straight in the Middle of His Forehead". . 201 
"He Forces Back the Weight of the Sea With the Strength of His 

Single Arm ! " 210 

"The Boy Showed His Domino Box" 218 

"Why is Your Door Open so Late as This?" 225 

"'The Blue Boy' is One of the Most Beautiful of Mr. Gains- 
borough's Paintings" 230 

"Everywhere, Everywhere, Christmas To-night" 236 

Shepherds in the Fields at Bethlehem 241 

"On They Came, Then, Over the Hard, Wild Ways" 244 

"Their Soul Shall Be as a Watered Garden" 254 

Poe's Cottage at Fordham 263 

Bayard Taylor 267 

Hawthorne's "Old Manse," Concord, Mass 276 

"Water! Get Me Water!" 287 

The First Sewing Machine 303 

Watt Discovering the Power of Steam 305 

The Clermont 309 

The Landing of the Pilgrims 312 

The Angelus 315 

Morning, or the Dance of the Nymphs 317 

The Cornfield 320 

The Worship of the Magi 323 

The Flight into Egypt 326 

Christ in the Temple 328 

Christ Healing the Sick . . 332 

Entry into Jerusalem 336 

Casting Out the Money Changers ^8 

Christ before Pilate 340 

The Crucifixion 342 

Easter Morning .. . . 344 

Michael Faraday 356 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xxv 

Jacob's Dream 365 

The Statue of Peter Cooper and Cooper Institute 392 

George Washington 403 

Michelangelo in His Study 416 

Church of St. Peter in Rome 421 

Judas Accepting the Silver 425 

St. Peter Delivered from Prison 431 

Luther Preaching at the Wartburg 460 

The Prodigal Son 466 

"They Shall All Be Yours if You Will Confess that You Are a Spy " 481 

Patrick Henry Delivering His Famous Speech 503 

Statue of Nathan Hale 503 

The Pharisee and the Publican 524 

Rheims Cathedral 529 



xxiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Keep Them to Remember Me By" 185 

"David Called to Him, and Told Him of His Escape" 189 

"It Struck the Giant Straight in the Middle of His Forehead". . 201 
"He Forces Back the Weight of the Sea With the Strength of His 

Single Arm ! " 2 10 

"The Boy Showed His Domino Box" 218 

"Why is Your Door Open so Late as This?" 225 

"'The Blue Boy' is One of the Most Beautiful of Mr. Gains- 
borough's Paintings" 230 

"Everywhere, Everywhere, Christmas To-night" 236 

Shepherds in the Fields at Bethlehem 241 

"On They Came, Then, Over the Hard, Wild Ways" 244 

"Their Soul Shall Be as a Watered Garden" 254 

Poe's Cottage at Fordham 263 

Bayard Taylor 267 

Hawthorne's "Old Manse," Concord, Mass 276 

"Water! Get Me Water!" 287 

The First Sewing Machine 303 

Watt Discovering the Power of Steam 305 

The Clermont 309 

The Landing of the Pilgrims 312 

The Angelus 315 

Morning, or the Dance of the Nymphs 317 

The Cornfield 320 

The Worship of the Magi 323 

The Flight into Egypt . 326 

Christ in the Temple 328 

Christ Healing the Sick 332 

Entry into Jerusalem 336 

Casting Out the Money Changers 338 

Christ before Pilate 340 

The Crucifixion 342 

Easter Morning .344 

Michael Faraday 356 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xxv 

Jacob's Dream 365 

The Statue of Peter Cooper and Cooper Institute 392 

George Washington 403 

Michelangelo in His Study 416 

Church of St. Peter in Rome 42 1 

Judas Accepting the Silver 425 

St. Peter Delivered from Prison 431 

Luther Preaching at the Wartburg 460 

The Prodigal Son 466 

"They Shall All Be Yours if You Will Confess that You Are a Spy " 481 

Patrick Henry Delivering His Famous Speech 503 

Statue of Nathan Hale 503 

The Pharisee and the Publican 524 

Rheims Cathedral 529 



PART 1 



DOING RIGHT 



THE PIG BROTHER 

There was once a child who was untidy. He left 
his books on the floor and his muddy shoes on the table ; 
he put his fingers in the jam-pots, and spilled ink on 
his best pinafore ; there was really no end to his un- 
tidiness. 

One day the Tidy Angel came into his nursery. 

"This will never dd!" said the Angel. "This is 
really shocking. You must go out and stay with your 
brother while I set things to rights here." 

"I have no brother!" said the child. 

"Yes, you have!" said the Angel. "You may not 
know him, but he will know you. Go out in the garden 
and watch for him, and he will soon come." 

"I don't know what you mean !" said the child ; but 
he went out into the garden and waited. 

Presently a squirrel came along, whisking his tail. 

"Are you my brother ?" asked the child. 

The squirrel looked him over carefully. 

"Well, I should hope not!" he said. "My fur is 
neat and smooth, my nest is handsomely made, and in 

3 



4 DOING RIGHT 

perfect order, and my young ones are properly brought 
up. Why do you insult me by asking such a question ?" 

He whisked off, and the child waited. 

Presently a wren came hopping by. 

"Are you my brother ?" asked the child. 

"No, indeed !" said the wren. "What imperti- 
nence ! You will find no tidier person than I in the 
whole garden. Not a feather is out of place, and my 
eggs are the wonder of all for smoothness and beauty. 
Brother, indeed !" He hopped off, ruffling his feathers, 
and the child waited. 

By and by a large Tommy Cat came along. 

"Are you my brother ?" asked the child. 

"Go and look at yourself in the glass," said the 
Tommy Cat haughtily, "and you will have your an- 
swer. I have been washing myself in the sun all the 
morning, while it is clear that no water has come near 
you for a long time. There are no such creatures as 
you in my family, I am humbly thankful to say." 

He walked on, waving his tail, and the child waited. 

Presently a pig came trotting along. 

The child did not wish to ask the pig if he were his 
brother, but the pig did not wait to be asked. 

"Hello, brother!" he grunted. 

"I am not your brother !" said the child. 

"Oh, yes, you are!" said the pig. "I confess I am 
not proud of you, but there is no mistaking the mem- 
bers of our family. Come along, and have a good roll in 
the barnyard ! There is some lovely black mud there." 



THE PIG BROTHER 




Hello, Brother ! 



6 DOING RIGHT 

"I don't like to roll in mud !" said the child. 

"Tell that to the hens!" said the Pig Brother. 
"Look at your hands, and your shoes, and your pina- 
fore ! Come along, I say ! You may have some of the 
pig-wash for supper, if there is more than I want." 

"I don't want pig-wash!" said the child; and he 
began to cry. 

Just then the Tidy Angel came out. 

"I have set everything to rights," she said, "and so 
it must stay. Now, will you go with the Pig Brother, or 
will you come back with me, and be a tidy child ?" 

"With you, with you !" cried the child ; and he 
clung to the Angel's dress. 

The Pig Brother grunted. 

"Small loss !" he said. "There will be all the more 
wash for me !" and he trotted on. 1 

— Laura E. Richards. 



The tree is known by its fruit. 

— Matthew xii. 33. 



1. What did the untidy child do ? 

2. Where did the Tidy Angel send him ? 

3. Tell about his meeting with the squirrel and the wren. 

4. What had Tommy Cat to say ? 

5. What did the pig tell him ? 

6. How did the Tidy Angel help him ? 

1 From the Art-Literature Readers, reprinted by permission of Atkinson, 
Mentzer & Co. 



A MOTHER'S STORY 7 

A MOTHER'S STORY 

"What a nice boy your friend Wilson is!" said 
Mrs. Dennis to her son Tom one afternoon. Wilson 
had come home to tea with Tom, and Mrs. Dennis 
had been struck with his polite and pleasant manners. 

"Oh, yes ! Wilson is all right," said Tom, carelessly. 
"Some of the fellows think he's a little stuck up, but 
he isn't. It's only his way. Did you notice his queer 
habit of nodding his head when he speaks ?" 

"Yes, but I noticed most his quiet, gentlemanly 
way of speaking. That is a habit I should like you 
to form, Tom. Your way of speaking is a little loud 
and rough, you know." 

"I'll soon alter that if you wish," said Tom. 

"Ah, my boy," said Mrs. Dennis, "you will find it 
more difficult than you think. Habits are easy to 
make, but hard to break. I read an old story once 
which will show you what I mean. 

"A young man was walking along a dry and dusty 
road. The sun beat fiercely upon his head ; his mouth 
was parched with heat and dust, and his feet were so 
weary that he could hardly drag one after the other. 

"He longed, oh, so eagerly ! for shade and rest, but 
not a tree or a shrub grew by the wayside ; not a patch 
of grass offered a pleasant seat to the worn traveler. 

"Suddenly he saw, a little way from the road, a 
great rock towering above the plain. Hastening to 
it, he found at its base the opening of a cave, and with 



8 DOING RIGHT 

a sigh of pleasure he went forward to rest in its cool 
shade. 

"He was just about to enter, when, to his surprise, he 
saw a beautiful woman there, sitting at a spinning wheel. 
As she spun, the threads, fine as those of the finest 
spider's web, shone in the sunlight like streaks of gold. 

" She smiled at the young man as he stood before her, 
and he thought that he had never seen any one so lovely. 
' Madam/ he said, 'I am weary and worn. May I 
lay myself down in this cool retreat until my limbs are 
rested ?' 

"'Surely you may,' said the beautiful woman, 'if 
you will but let me wind about you some strands of this 
silken thread. 'Tis all I ask of you — a whim of mine !' 

"'Indeed, madam/ replied the young man, 'who 
would not do so slight a thing ? Wind your thread 
about me as I lie ; when I have rested I will snap it 
asunder and go on my way/ 

"The woman smiled again, and the young man lay 
down. The cool shade was delightful ; and as he 
watched her quick fingers winding the thread round 
him, and listened to the sweet song she sang, he was 
soothed to sleep. 

" By and by he awoke, and tried to rise to resume his 
journey. Great was his amazement when he found 
that he could not move hand or foot. He looked at 
his body, and found that the thin thread was wound 
tightly about him in thousands of coils. It was no 
longer bright like gold, its color was dull and hard ; 



A MOTHER'S STORY 9 

and as he looked, he saw to his horror that each coil 
was growing to a rope-like thickness. 

"He cried aloud, and called on the beautiful creature 
to free him from his bonds. But the only answer was 
a cruel, mocking laugh ; and as he turned his head, 
he saw that it was no longer a beautiful woman, but 
an old, shrunken, and ugly witch. Darkness came 
and shut all things from his view. 

" So it is with our habits, Tom. They grow so slowly 
that we do not notice how strong they are becoming, 
until they are too strong for us to break. Take care, 
then, that your habits are good ones, which you will 
not wish to break, but only to see grow stronger and 
stronger until they make up the character of a good 
man." —Selected. 



And exercise thyself unto godliness : for bodily exercise is 
profitable for a little ; but godliness is profitable for all 
things, having promise of the life which now is, and of 
that which is to come. 

— I Timothy iv. 7-8. 



1. Who visited Tom ? 

2. What did Tom's mother say about Wilson ? 

3. What did Mrs. Dennis want Tom to do ? 

4. How did Tom answer her ? 

5. What did she say about habits ? 

6. Tell Mrs. Dennis' story about the young man. 

7. How do habits grow ? 

8. Why should we try to have good habits ? 



io DOING RIGHT 

THE STORY OF RUTH 
I 

There was once a woman named Naomi, who lived 
in Bethlehem. She and her husband and her two sons 
were very happy there until one year when the crops 
failed. Then they had to move to Moab in order to 
find food. Soon sorrow began to come to them. First, 
Naomi's husband died. Her sons married, and she 
might have lived in their homes. But before very 
long they died. Her sons' widows, Ruth and Orpah, 
loved her and were kind to her. But Naomi could 
not help being lonely and homesick. She longed to 
get back among her old friends, end to live in the city 
where she had been a happy girl and wife and mother. 

One day she called Ruth and Orpah to her, and told 
them that she was going home. There was plenty of 
food now in Bethlehem ; and it seemed as if her heart 
would break if she had to stay in Moab all the rest of 
her life. So she started to walk back to her own 
country. Ruth and Orpah went a little way along the 
road with her; for they could not bear to have her 
leave them, and they wanted to see her safely started 
on her journey, and to be with her as long as they 
could. 

At last Naomi stopped. She thought that they had 
come far enough. It was hard to part, but it would 



THE STORY OF RUTH n 

have been as sad for them to leave their friends and 
country and go with her as it was for her to give up 
her friends and country and stay with them. So she 
kissed them, and said: "Return to your homes, my 
daughters. You have been very kind to me ; but we 
must say good-by." 

Orpah cried, and put her arms about Naomi, and 
kissed her. Then with eyes that were blinded with 
tears she started back toward her home. But Ruth 
clung to Naomi as if Naomi had been her own mother. 
Naomi tried to loosen the arms that were clasped about 
her neck, and begged Ruth to follow her sister. " See ! " 
she said, "Orpah is already on the way home. We 
love each other very much. But I am lonely here, 
and you would be lonely in my country. So let me 
bless you, dear child ! Now go back and be happy in 
your own home." 

But Ruth would not leave her. She had loved 
Naomi's son, and she knew that he would wish her 
to care for his mother. Naomi would soon be old and 
helpless ; and then who would get her food, and make 
her happy, and tend her when she was sick ? So Ruth 
held her fast in her arms, and said : "Do not ask me to 
leave you, and to turn back to my old home instead of 
making a home for you ! For where you go, I will go ; 
and where you live, I will live. Your people shall be 
my people, and your God shall be my God." When 
Naomi saw how much Ruth loved her, she gave up try- 
ing to send her back into Moab ; and with one more look 



12 



DOIXG RIGHT 




THE STORY OF RUTH 



13 



at Orpah, already far back on the road, they started 
out together for the land that Naomi loved best. 

As they came into Bethlehem, some of Naomi's 
old friends caught sight of her, and crowded round her, 
asking, "Are you not Naomi?" "Yes," she replied, 
"I am Naomi. But call me not ' Naomi,' for that 
means 'pleasant.' Call me 'Mara' ; that means 'bitter.' 
For I went out with a husband and two sons ; but God 
has brought me home without one of them to comfort 
me." When Ruth heard this, she was doubly glad 
that she came with Naomi, and said to herself, "I 
will try to do the work of the men, whom my mother- 
in-law and I loved, even though I may not take the 
places of those who are gone." 



II 

The first task was to get food. Now it chanced to 
be the time of the barley harvest. Men were out in 
the fields, cutting down the yellow stalks of grain, 
and tying them up into bundles. Some of the stalks 
were dropped, and often the grain was shaken out and 
fell on the ground. Girls who were poor used to go 
behind the men and pick up the grain and carry it 
home for food. It was hard work, and the men were 
not always kind to them, and at best they could 
gather only enough to keep them alive. Ruth knew 
that she and Naomi must get food in some way. 
So she asked if she might go into the fields also; and 



14 DOING RIGHT 

Naomi, though she did not like to have her do it, told 
her that she might go. 

Now it happened that Ruth went into the field of a 
rich man named Boaz, who was a relative of Naomi's 
husband. When Boaz came out to see how the 
work was getting on, he asked one of the men, "Who 
is the girl gleaning yonder?" "Her name is Ruth," 
the man answered. "She is the girl who married one 
of Naomi's sons, and who left her home in Moab that she 
might care for Naomi and make a home for her here." 

When Boaz heard this, he went to Ruth and said : 
"Do not go into any other fields to glean; for there 
is plenty here, and I have told the young men not to 
tease or annoy you. No one shall hurt you ; and when 
you are thirsty, you may drink out of the jars that the 
men have filled." 

Ruth was very much surprised to hear such kind 
words from the rich stranger. "Why are you so good 
to me ?" she asked. "I am only a poor girl, whom you 
have never seen before. I do not even belong to your 
people, for my home was in Moab." 

But Boaz said: "Men have told me your story. 
I know how kind you have been to your mother-in-law, 
and how you left your father and mother and native 
land and came to a strange people in order to care for 
her and to make for her a home. God will bless your 
work and take care of you and protect you." Then 
Ruth thanked him, and went back to her gleaning with 
a happy heart. 



THE STORY OF RUTH 15 

When noon came, Boaz told Ruth that she might 
have a part of the lunch. He even told the young 
men, after she had gone back to work, to drop the grain 
in her way, so that she might have plenty to take home 
to Naomi. At the close of the day, when Ruth had 
beaten out the barley with a stick, her measure was 
so full that Naomi cried: "Where have you been, 
my daughter ? How did you get so much ? May God 
bless the man in whose fields you gathered!" When 
Naomi learned that the man was Boaz, the kinsman of 
her husband, she was doubly happy ; for she knew 
that Boaz would take care of them, and that now she 
and Ruth need not fear lest after the harvest they 
should fail to find either food or work, and so starve. 

It was not long before Boaz fell in love with Ruth. 
He felt sure that a girl so true and kind to Naomi would 
be true and kind to him. So he asked her to be his 
wife, and to make a home for him as well as for Naomi ; 
and as Ruth loved him, she went to live with him. 
Thus the poor young widow from Moab found herself 
mistress of a fine house, with plenty of food and clothes, 
and men and women to wait on her, so that she would 
never need to glean any more. By and by God gave 
her a little son, and Naomi became his nurse, and was 
almost as happy as Ruth and Boaz. When the boy 
grew up and had a home of his own, God gave him a 
little boy, who was called Jesse ; and Jesse became 
the father of David, Israel's shepherd king. 

— Henry Hallam Tweedy. 



DOING RIGHT 



A worthy woman who can find ? 

For her price is far above rubies. 

Grace is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; 

But a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. 

— Proverbs xxxi. 10 and 30. 



Why did Naomi decide to go back home ? 

What did the two daughters do ? 

How did Ruth care for Naomi ? 

What did Boaz do when he heard her story r 

Tell about Ruth's later life. 



A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 

I 

If any one had tried some fifty years ago to pick out 
a boy who had the poorest chance of becoming a great 
man, he might very well have chosen a little slave on a 
plantation near Hale's Ford in Virginia. Nobody took 
very much notice of the coming of another little black 
baby. His mother did not know the names of the 
months, and soon forgot just when God gave the new 
son to her ; so that when he grew to manhood, he chose 
Easter Sunday as a good time to mark as his birthday. 

His home was a one-room cabin on a great farm, 
where he lived with other slaves. There were no win- 
dows. The floor was of dirt, and on this the boy 
slept, with a heap of rags to keep him warm. His 
only garment was a shirt so coarse that until it had 



A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 17 

been worn about six weeks it made him feel as if needles 
were sticking into him. When the weather was warm, 
he much preferred not to wear anything at all. Though 
no one else seemed to care for him, his mother loved 
him dearly ; and at night she used to bend over him 
when he lay down to sleep and pray that by and by 
she and her boy might be free. 

One day they were all sent for to come up to the 
house, where the master lived. The little fellow was 
afraid and clung to his mother's skirts while a man 
on the porch read a paper to them. But when the 
reading was over, all the slaves jumped up and down 
and shouted for joy ; and his mother bent low and 
whispered to him that they were free. 

After a while the family moved to West Virginia, 
where there was work for them in the coal mines and 
salt furnaces. The boy longed to go to school and 
learn, as he saw other happy children doing. But the 
home was so poor that he had to help to buy food and 
clothing ; and every day he walked a mile and a half 
to the coal mines with his stepfather, and worked in 
the darkness and dampness, though the mine made 
hirn very much afraid. He was not discouraged, how- 
ever, and learned his letters on the salt barrels. 
After a good teacher began to help him, he took a book 
into the mine with him, and whenever he had a few 
spare minutes, he tried to read by the light of the 
little lamp that was hung in his cap. At last his step- 
father told him that if he would get up early in the 




1 8 DOING RIGHT 

morning and work from four until nine o'clock, he 
might go to school for half a day. This seemed to 
him a great chance, and he took up his studies with 
delight. 

Up to this time he had never had a last name. 
"Booker" was what every one called him. At the 
school he heard the teacher calling the boys by two 
names ; and when his name was asked, he gave the 
greatest name he knew — Washington. So Booker 
Washington he has always been called ; and he often 
laughs and points to himself as one of the very few boys 
who ever chose their own names. 

When he was twelve years old, he was sent to work 
as a chore boy in a home in Maiden. Everything 
about the house had to be kept clean and in order, and 
his mistress taught him that he must always be honest 
and always on time. These were good lessons for a boy 
brought up as he had been ; and he was glad when he 
grew up that this good woman had made him do things, 
which at the time he did not like to do at all, and do 
them thoroughly. Here, too, he never wasted his 
spare time, but kept on with his studies. Often his 
mistress found him reading a book in a corner of the 
kitchen ; and more than once she saw a light in his 
cabin after midnight, and had to go out and tell him 
to stop studying and go to bed. 

One day he heard about a great school at Hampton, 
where negro and Indian boys, who were poor, could 
work for their board. It was five hundred miles 



A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 19 

away, and he had been able to save very little out 
of the six dollars a month that his mistress paid 
him. But his friends, who were almost as poor as he, 
helped him. Some gave five cents and some ten ; 
and at last, though he did not have enough money to 
pay his carfare, he started. Part of the way he rode. 
The rest he had to walk, sleeping in barns and under 
sidewalks, and getting whatever he could to eat. 

II 

At last he reached Hampton, ragged and dirty, and 
with only five cents in his pocket ; so that when the 
teachers looked him over, they were not at all sure that 
he was the kind of boy that ought to stay. However, 
one of them decided to give him a chance, and told him 
to sweep and dust one of the large recitation rooms. 
If Booker had done this badly, he would probably have 
been sent away, and his whole after life might have 
been very different. But he saw that he was on trial, 
and made up his mind to do the work better than it 
had ever been done before. He swept the room three 
times and dusted the desks four times. He took the 
dirt out of the cracks and corners, and wiped off the 
windows and sills. When the teacher came back, she 
could not find a dusty place anywhere ; and looking 
down into the eager face, she said with a smile, "I 
think we'll try you as a student." And so his wonder- 
ful days at Hampton began. 

Here there was much that was new to him. He had 



20 DOING RIGHT 

never before slept in a bed with clean white sheets. 
He had never had his meals at regular hours, or eaten 
his food with a tablecloth spread before him, or used 
a napkin. He had never learned to use a toothbrush 
or taken a bath in a white tub. He had to rise at four, 
sweep rooms, build fires, and work hard even' day. 
But he knew that to learn was the way to be happy 
and good and useful ; and he bore his hardships without 
whining, ate his portion of corn bread without find- 
ing fault with it, and did even' task just as well as he 
could. 

By the time that his school days at Hampton were 
over, he had made up his mind that what he wanted 
to do most of all was not to make himself rich, or to 
seek his own pleasure, but to help his people, who were 
living in the little old one-room cabins, and who were as 
poor and ignorant as he used to be. So he went back 
to Maiden and taught a day school and two Sunday 
schools there for three years. He made the boys and 
girls keep their hands and faces clean, comb their hair, 
and keep the buttons on their clothes, and tried in 
even' way to cure them of their untidy habits and to 
make them honest and kind as well as wise. He did 
so well that General Armstrong, the great leader of 
the school at Hampton, sent for him to come back and 
teach the Indian boys ; and thus the boy. for whom 
Hampton had done so much, had a chance to express 
his love and thanks to the school. 

In 1880 some men in Alabama made up their minds 



A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 21 

to found a school in Tuskegee to train teachers for their 
colored schools. When they asked General Armstrong 
whom they should call to take charge of the work, he 
told them that the best man he knew was Booker 
Washington. The task was a very hard one, and many 
men would have chosen to stay at Hampton, where 
they could have more of quiet and comfort. But this 
man loved his people more than he loved himself and 
looked only for the place where he could be most help- 
ful. He was given charge of the new school, and began 
his work on July 4, 1881, with an old church for a 
building and a tumble-down shanty, which stood 
near by, for a schoolroom. It was cold in winter and 
hot in summer. The wind howled in between the 
boards, and when it rained, one of the boys had to 
hold an umbrella over the teacher's head while she 
heard the lesson. 

From this has grown the great school at Tuskegee, 
where more than a thousand black boys and girls are 
trained every year. Many friends have given large 
gifts to it, and the black folk have toiled for it and 
helped to make it. But the success of the great work 
and the happiness of thousands of lives and homes are 
due most of all to one little slave boy, who wanted to 
learn, who was not afraid to work hard, who loved 
his people, and who was eager to share with them his 
blessings until all should have a fair chance to be wise 
and happy and good. 

— Henry Hallam Tweedy. 



22 DOING RIGHT 



Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, 

And the man that getteth understanding. 

For the gaining of it is better than the gaining of silver, 

And the profit thereof than fine gold. 

— Proverbs iii. 13-14. 



1. Tell about the little black boy's home. 

2. How did he help take care of his family ? 

3. In what way did he choose his name ? 

4. How did he get to Hampton ? 

5. What did he do there ? 

6. What did he want to do when he was through school ? 

7. In what ways has he helped his people ? 

8. What can we learn from his life ? 



DAVID AND JONATHAN 

Everybody liked the shepherd boy who had come 
to the king's court from the sheepfold, and had killed 
the giant. King Saul's daughter Michal loved him, 
and they were married. King Saul's son Jonathan 
loved him, and gave him his own sword and bow, and 
the two young men became fast friends. And the king 
loved him — at first. David was a skillful player on 
the harp, and Saul delighted to hear him play and sing. 

But Saul was sick. Something was the matter with 
his mind. There were times when he was full of grief 
or full of anger, without reason ; and nobody could 
come near him or do anything for him except David. 



DAVID AND JONATHAN 



23 




© De Bruno ff, 1904. 



" David Would Play upon His Harp," 



24 DOIXG RIGHT 

David would play upon his harp, and at the sound of 
the sweet music the king's mind would clear, and he 
would be himself again. 

As the days passed, however, and David led the 
soldiers to many victories, and the people praised him, 
the king was offended. He felt that the people cared 
more for David than they did for him. At last, in 
the distress of his mind, he decided that he would kill 
David. One day, when his sickness was upon him and 
David was playing to drive it away, the king took his 
spear and flung it at the player. David was not struck, 
but he saw that his life was in danger. 

In all this. Jonathan was David's friend. Jonathan 
said to David, "I will go and talk with my father, and 
will find out what he means to do, and I will let you 
know." So the prince talked with the king, but the king 
was only the more angry, and even tried to kill his son. 

Now Jonathan and David had agreed upon a plan 
of meeting, for it was not safe for David to be seen. 
He hid himself in a place which Jonathan knew, and 
waited. So Jonathan went out with his bow and 
arrows, and took a little boy with him. He shot an 
arrow and sent the boy to pick it up. "Run." he said, 
"and find the arrows which I shoot." Then he shot 
another arrow far beyond the boy. That was the 
signal. Jonathan had said to David, "If I shoot be- 
yond the lad. then you will know that my father is 
your enemy. Go and save your life." 

After this. Jonathan gave the boy his bow and arrows 



NATIONAL HYMN 25 

and sent him home, and David came out of his hiding 
place, and the true friends kissed one another and wept 
together. Then they made a promise each to the other 
that they would be firm friends 'all their lives long, no 
matter what might happen. 

Then Jonathan went home to his place in the court, 
and David fled from Saul into the wilderness. 

— George Hodges. 



There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. 

— Proverbs xviii. 24. 



1. Where did David go to live ? 

2. Who was his best friend ? 

3. What was wrong with the king ? 

4. How did David help him ? 

5. What made the king dislike David ? 

6. What did Saul do one day ? 

7. What signal did David and Jonathan have ? 

8. How did Jonathan show his friendship ? 

NATIONAL HYMN 

My country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing ; 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrim's pride, 
From every mountain side 

Let freedom ring. 



26 DOING RIGHT 

My native country, thee — 
Land of the noble free, — 

Thy name I love ; 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills ; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

Let music swell the breeze, 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet freedom's song ; 
Let mortal tongues awake ; 
Let all that breathe partake, 
Let rocks their silence break, — 

The sound prolong. 

Our fathers' God, to Thee, 
Author of Liberty, 

To Thee we sing ; 
Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light ; 
Protect us by thy might, 

Great God our King. 

— Samuel F. Smith. 

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, 

Let my right hand forget her skill. 

Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, 

If I remember thee not ; 

If I prefer not Jerusalem 

Above my chief joy. 

— Psalm cxxxvii. 5-6. 



A GREAT PAINTER OF ANIMALS 27 

A GREAT PAINTER OF ANIMALS 

I 

Edwin Landseer was a bright-eyed little English 
boy whose home was in the city of London. He was 
born March 7, 1802, and when only three or four years 
old he began to draw such good pictures that his family 
felt sure he would become an artist. 

Edwin's father was an engraver, and he knew a 
great deal about beautiful pictures. It pleased him 
that his little boy liked to draw, and he began at once 
to teach him. 

Edwin asked his father to make a picture for him to 
copy. But Mr. Landseer, who did not think this was 
the best way to learn to draw, took the boy out into 
the fields instead. He gave him pencil and paper and 
told him to look at some sheep nibbling grass and then 
make a picture of them. ' Your own eyes are the best 
of all teachers," he said. 

So Edwin looked closely at the sheep and drew what 
he saw as well as he could. In this way the little artist 
learned to know the sheep, cows, horses, donkeys, and 
goats, and saw how each one was different from the 
others. He always tried to draw each animal just as 
it looked to him. 

Mr. Landseer watched the boy's work from day to 
day, and helped him to make it better and better. 
Some of the drawings were so good that the proud 



28 DOING RIGHT 

father kept them. Now, after a hundred years, they 
may still be seen in a great art building called the 
Kensington Museum in London. 

Everybody who looks at these pictures wonders at 
the good drawings made by a little boy only five or 
six years old. 

Edwin Landseer had three sisters and two brothers, 
all older than himself. The brothers' names were 
Charles and Thomas. These children spent many 
happy hours playing on Hampstead Heath, which was 
not far from their home. There never was a better 
place for games and for races with the dogs, and there 
never was a happier group of children. Their father 
often shared in their frolics. 

Nearly every day Mr. Landseer took his boys for 
a tramp across the open country that was used as a 
pasture. Before they started he would often say, 
"Well, my boys, what shall we draw to-day?" Per- 
haps Thomas would suggest a donkey and Charles a 
cow, but Edwin was almost sure to choose a dog. 
Then, with sketchbooks under their arms, away the 
little fellows would go. Sometimes they spent a whole 
morning in the sunny pasture watching some animal 
and trying to draw its picture. 

Mr. Landseer encouraged the boys to do their best, 
and showed them how to correct their mistakes. When 
noontime came, they hurried home to show their 
sketches to their mother and she guessed what they had 
tried to draw. 



A GREAT PAINTER OF ANIMALS 29 

The Landseer boys could draw horses, sheep, and dogs 
long before they knew their letters. They loved 
all animals, and their home was full of pets. Their 
father wanted them to learn to draw wild animals, so 
he took them often to the Zoological Gardens. There 
they watched the lions and tigers, and made sketches 
of them which they took home to their mother and 
sisters. Whenever a new or strange animal was on 
exhibition in London, the Landseer boys were always 
there with notebooks and pencils. They loved to 
draw, and they loved to be together. 

Little by little the father and brothers of Edwin 
Landseer saw that his pictures were better than theirs. 
To be sure they could all sketch a dog, but Edwin's 
sketch was sure to show a particular kind of a dog. 
He seemed to find something in animals that the others 
did not see, and he made his drawings tell what he saw 
and thought. 

Mr. Landseer proudly watched Edwin's work year 
after year, and helped him all he could. But Edwin 
learned so fast that when he was thirteen years old he 
knew all that his father could teach him. 

II 

There was an English painter named B. R. Hayden 
in London who gave lectures about art and artists. 
Mr. Landseer took his three sons to the studio of this 
man to see if he would teach them. Mr. Hayden 
agreed to do so, and he gave some work to Charles 



3 o DOING RIGHT 

and Thomas, who afterward became fine engravers, 
but he knew from Edwin's drawings that the bright 
little fellow would be a great artist in a few years and 
he was glad to have such a pupil. 

First of all, Mr. Hayden gave Edwin the parts of a 
lion to study. "If you wish to paint animals well, 
you must know how they are made," he said. So 
Edwin studied the large, shaggy head, the strong legs, 
and the body of the lion. He learned to know the bones 
and the joints of the great frame and the muscles that 
moved it, and made many sketches of it in different 
positions. Sometimes the great creature was deep 
in sleep, and again it was eagerly waiting for food. 
He studied the other animals in the same way, and all 
this work helped him to make better and better pictures. 

The next year the young artist became a pupil in 
the Royal Academy. He has been described as, "a 
bright lad, with light curly hair, and very gentle, grace- 
ful manners, and much manliness withal." It is no 
wonder that he was a favorite with the keeper of the 
Academy, who called him, "My little dog-boy." 

After two years of study at the Academy, Master 
Landseer painted a wonderful dog picture. He had 
painted pictures before this, which had been on exhibi- 
tion in London, but this was his first real success. 
Every one wondered that a boy of sixteen could do such 
fine work. 

All the people of London became interested in Ed- 
win's pictures. No one could paint animals as he did. 



A GREAT PAINTER OF ANIMALS 31 




"No One Else Could Paint Dogs with Such Loving, 
Trustful Faces." 



32 DOING RIGHT 

No one else could paint dogs with such silky ears 
and coats, or with such loving, trustful faces. People 
who could not afford to buy one of his paintings wanted 
a copy of one, at least, and Mr. Landseer, Charles, 
and Thomas were kept busy engraving the pictures 
which Edwin painted. 

Edwin Landseer was fond of all animals, but he was 
especially fond of dogs. He had a way of making them 
know that he loved them 

In his walks about London city, he was often followed 
by a little troupe of dogs, leaping and barking around 
him in delight. Even strange dogs that he had never 
seen before joined in the frolic, as if they were his old- 
time friends. 

A woman once said to him : "How is it, Mr. Land- 
seer, that dogs know that you are fond of them ? How 
do you gain the love of dogs you have never seen 
before?" "By simply peeping into their hearts, 
madam/' replied Mr. Landseer. And that is just what 
he did. He knew that every dog had a loving heart 
and he tried to win its affection and trust by kindness. 

But most of all Mr. Landseer admired intelligent 
dogs. He enjoyed teaching them clever tricks. No 
doubt he taught his own dogs, Tray and Blanche, to 
carry a basket to market, to bring in the letters from 
the postman, to speak for a biscuit and to catch it 
without missing. 

When his favorite terrier, Brutus, died, Mr. Land- 
seer was quite broken-hearted. He never allowed him- 



THE PRODIGAL SON 33 

self to care so much for any one of his dogs again, but 
made them all his good friends. 1 

— Frances Elizabeth Chutter. 



Seest thou a man diligent in his business ? 
He shall stand before kings. 

— Proverbs xxii. 29. 



1. When did Edwin Landseer begin making pictures ? 

2. Who helped him with his drawings ? 

3. How did Edwin and his brothers spend much time ? 

4. What kind of pictures did he best love to draw ? 

5. Why could he make such fine pictures of dogs ? 



THE PRODIGAL SON 

I 

One of the reasons why Jesus was hated was that he 
was so kind to those whom the great and rich people, 
and even the ministers, disliked. The Jews felt that 
men of other nations and taxgatherers and all wicked 
people should be avoided. But Jesus felt that it was 
as bad for good people to keep away from those who 
were in error or sin, as it would be for the doctors to 
keep away from the sick. So he went among them, 
and made friends with them, and was able to help 
them. Almost every day he dined with somebody 
who had hardly ever had a great and good person 

1 From the Art- Literature Readers, reprinted by permission of Atkinson, Ment- 
zer & Company. 
D 



34 DOING RIGHT 

under his roof before. He said that God was not in 
the least like the proud rich and the narrow-minded 
priests. So he told them this story. 

Once upon a time there was a man who had two 
sons. The elder was quiet and steady, but the younger 
son was a restless lad who was weary of staying at 
home, and wished to go and see the world. So the 
younger went one day to his father and asked for the 
money which would come to him when he was of age. 
"Father," he said, "give me the portion of goods which 
falleth to me." And the father, who was a man of 
wealth, gave to both his sons. 

Then the younger took his money, and went a long 
way off into the midst of the great world, and there had 
a fine time. He spent his money for this thing and for 
that, buying what was- sweet to eat and sour to drink, 
and doing wicked things when he wanted to ; and all 
he thought about was how to have a better time 
to-morrow. Thus the days went by. Some of the 
sweets gave him a toothache, and some of the sours 
gave him a headache, and none of the pleasures lasted 
long ; but he fancied that he was enjoying them all. 
At last, one morning, he waked to find that he had not 
a penny in his pocket. All that his father had given 
him was gone. And then something happened ; there 
arose a mighty famine in that land. Now a famine, 
as of course you know, is a time when everybody is 
hungry and there is nothing to eat. There had been 
no rain. The grain had stopped growing, and the grass 



THE PRODIGAL SON 35 

had stopped growing, and everything had ceased to 
grow, except people's appetites — they grew bigger 
and bigger. 

This was very hard for the lad who had spent all 
his money. Moreover, he found that in losing his 
wealth he had lost his friends also. All the gay young 
men and women to whom he had given so many gifts 
and pleasures now turned their backs upon him, and 
when they saw him in the street, went around the 
corner to avoid him. For they had been only his 
money's friends. Indeed, he himself had not been a 
true friend to them. He had never really cared about 
anybody but himself. He had never helped another ; 
so now there was none who would help him. 

Only one course was open to him, except to starve, 
and that was to go to work. But even work was hard 
to find. He did not know enough to do such work as 
calls for training. In spite of his fine clothes and his 
soft hands, he could do nothing but what is called un- 
skilled labor. That is the hardest kind and the worst 
paid. But when there is a famine, business fails, and 
there are few chances even to get such jobs as that. 
At last, the only position he could find was that of a 
swineherd. He had a hard time getting even this 
place, but he succeeded, and there he was day after 
day, in sun and rain, tending pigs in the field. And 
because it was a time of famine, when food was failing 
even in rich houses, he had to have his dinner with 
the pigs. Now a bill of fare for a pig's dinner is not a 



36 



DOING RIGHT 




Then the Prodigal Thought 
of Home." 



pleasant one for a man, even 
when the trough is well sup- 
plied. Think, then, what it 
must have been in the midst 
of a famine ! The swine had 
husks, and the prodigal son 
had nothing better. The 
farmer came out with a buck- 
etful of husks and dumped 
them down upon the ground, 
and the boy and the pigs 
fought together for the best 
pieces. 

Then the prodigal thought 
of home. He could shut his 
eyes and see how it all looked : 
the house where he was born, 
with trees about it ; the rooms 
within, and all the familiar 
furniture ; the table spread 
for dinner, and his father and 
mother and elder brother sit- 
ting down. Was there a place 
on one side left for him ? Why, 
even his father's servants had 
enough and to spare, and he 
was dying with hunger. 

Finally, he could stand it 
no longer. He said to him- 



THE PRODIGAL SON 37 

self : " I will go home. I will arise and go to my father, 
and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against 
heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be 
called thy son : make me as one of thy hired servants." 
So he filled his pockets with husks, and shut the gate 
upon the swine, and turned his face towards home. 

II 

Now that day his father was looking and looking 
down the road. I suppose that that had happened 
many times, for the father was very sad about his son. 
It had been many months since he had heard from him, 
and the last news had not been pleasant news. So 
he watched the road, saying to himself, " Some day he 
will come back." Away down the street, walking 
slowly, like one who is weary after a long journey, or 
like one who is very doubtful if he will be welcome, came 
a man : probably a tramp, for his clothes were ragged 
and dirty, and yet with a familiar look. And the father 
looked again, and behold, it was his son. 

What did the father do ? Did he say : "There is my 
bad son, who has disgraced himself and me. He has 
spent all his money and is coming back for more. He 
thinks that I will forgive him, and he will find that he is 
very much mistaken." Or did he say: "Yes, it is 
my boy ; now, what shall I do ? What shall I do ? 
Shall I take him back or not ?" No : he rose up in- 
stantly, running out of the house and down the road, 
so that he met his son while the lad was yet a great 



38 



DOING RIGHT 




"He Had Compassion, and 
Greeted Him." 



way from the house. He had 
compassion, and greeted him, 
and put his arms around him 
and kissed him. And the son 
began to say the words which 
he had been repeating to him- 
self, " Father, I have sinned 
against heaven and in thy 
sight, and am no more worthy 
to.be called thy son." But 
the father brought him in, and 
called the servants. " Bring 
forth the best robe," he said, 
" and put it on him ; and put 
a ring on his hand and shoes 
on his feet ; and bring hither 
the fatted calf, and kill it, and 
let us eat, and be merry." 
So they cooked the very nic- 
est dinner which they knew 
how to make, and the neigh- 
bors were sent for ; and after 
dinner men were brought in 
with banjos and violins, and 
all began to dance. 

There was one exception, 
however, to this merriment. 
That was the elder brother. 
He was working in the field, 



THE PRODIGAL SON 39 

knowing nothing of this great event. When he came 
home to supper, he was much surprised to hear a 
great noise of talking and laughing, with music and 
dancing. All the young men and women of the neigh- 
borhood seemed to be there, having a beautiful time. 
The elder brother thought it strange that there should 
be a party at his house, and he not be invited. So 
he called one of the servants, and asked what these 
things meant. And the servant said, "Thy brother is 
come ; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, 
because he hath received him safe and sound." But 
he was angry, and would not go in. "My brother has 
been a fool," he said to himself, "and bad besides. 
Now he comes home and my father takes him in and 
makes much of him. My brother ought to have a 
whipping instead of a supper." 

Then the father left the guests and the dancing, and 
came out and spoke to his discontented son. And the 
son answering said to his father: "Lo, these many 
years have I stayed quietly at home, and minded your 
business and my own, working early and late upon the 
farm, and never disobeying you. And you have never 
given any party for me. You have never made a 
supper that I might be merry with my friends. And 
now your son has come, who has wasted your money 
in rioting and drunkenness, and you are giving him the 
best you have." But the father said : "Son, thou art 
ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was 
meet that we should make merry and be glad ; for this 



4 o DOING RIGHT 

thy brother was dead and is alive again ; and was lost, 
and is found." Even then I fear that the elder son 
did not have a cheerful face, nor did he kiss his brother 
when he met him. 

Jesus meant that the men of other nations, the tax- 
gatherers and the sinners, were like the prodigal son, 
while some of the proud and loveless Jews were like 
the elder brother ; but God is like the compassionate 
and loving and forgiving father. 

— George Hodges. 



Beloved, let us love one another : for love is of God ; and 
every one that loveth is begotten of God, and knoweth 
God. He that loveth not knoweth not God ; for God is 
love. 

— I John iv. 7-8. 



1. Why was Jesus hated ? 

2. How did the father deal with the younger son ? 

3. What did the younger son do ? 

4. What happened to him ? 

5. Then what course did he take ? 

6. How did his father receive him ? 

7. How did the elder brother like that ? 

8. What kind of people did Jesus mean by the elder brother ? 



PART II 



CLEANLINESS 

Come, my little Robert, near — 
Fie ! what filthy hands are here ! 
Who, that e'er could understand 
The rare structure of a hand, 
With its branching fingers fine, 
Work itself of hands divine, 
Strong, yet delicately knit, 
For ten thousand uses fit, 
Overlaid with so clear skin 
You may see the blood within, — 
Who this hand would choose to cover 
With a crust of dirt all over, 
Till it look'd in hue and shape 
Like the fore-foot of an ape ? 
Man or boy that works or plays 
In the fields or the highways, 
May, without offense or hurt, 
From the soil contract a dirt 
Which the next clear spring or river 
Washes out and out forever — 
But to cherish stains impure, 
Soil deliberate to endure, 
On the skin to fix a stain 
Till it works into the grain, 

43 



44 DOING RIGHT 

Argues a degenerate mind, 
Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined, 
Wanting in that self-respect 
Which does virtue best protect. 
All-endearing cleanliness, 
Virtue next to godliness, 
Easiest, cheapest, needfull'st duty, 
To the body health and beauty ; 
Who that's human would refuse it, 
When a little water does it ? 

— Charles and Mary Lamb. 



And he set the laver between the tent of meeting and the 
altar, and put water therein, wherewith to wash. And 
Moses and Aaron and his sons washed their hands and 
their feet thereat : when they went into the tent of meet- 
ing, and when they came near unto the altar, they washed ; 
as the Lord commanded Moses. 

— Exodus xl. 30-32. 



1. What care should we take of our hands ? 

2. What do we think of people with dirty hands ? 



HOW THE BIRDS BUILD THEIR NESTS 

One day long ago a thrush and a blackbird, who 
were flying about looking for something to eat, found 
a Magpie building her nest. 

Now as they knew very well that the Magpie's 






HOW THE BIRDS BUILD THEIR NESTS 45 

nest was better than theirs, they thought they would 
wait and see just how she built it. So they asked the 
Magpie if she wouldn't show them how she made it, 
and she said that she would. 

Before she had begun, some other birds who saw them 
talking together came up, too, for they wanted to know 
what she was doing. And as long as they were there, 
they decided that they might as well stay for the lesson. 

They all gathered about her and really meant to 
notice very carefully just how she worked. First of 
all they noticed that she took some soft mud and made 
a nice round cake with it. 

Now as every magpie knows, and every child, too, 
for that matter, a mud cake does all very well as the 
foundation of a nest ; but it needs more than that to 
make it complete. But the thrush thought that was 
all there was to it. 

"Oh," she said, "I see how it's done," and flew away ; 
and that's the way thrushes build their nests. 

Next the Magpie took some little sticks and stuck 
them very carefully in the mud, so that when the mud 
hardened they would stay in firmly. 

"That's easy enough," said the blackbird, and away 
he flew ; and that's the way blackbirds build their 
nests. 

Next the Magpie covered her twigs with some more 
mud and now the owl, wise though he was, was sure 
that the nest must be built ; so he wouldn't wait to see 
more, but flew away. 



46 DOING RIGHT 

But the Magpie never stopped working, even though 
half her class had gone. She took some more sticks 
and wound them very carefully around the outside, 
so that all the nest was neatly covered. 

"That's a good nest," said the sparrow 5 impatient 
to be off and build his own. Away he flew, not waiting 
to see the nest finished ; and sparrows' nests are not 
very comfortable. 

Now what do you suppose happened next ? The 
Magpie took some feathers and downy stuff, which she 
had been hiding in a nice warm corner of the tree for 
some time, and lined all the nest with it. 

"That is certainly as good as a nest could be," said 
the starling, and away he flew ; and his nest is more 
comfortable than most nests. It's almost as comfort- 
able, indeed, as the Magpie's. But all the other birds, 
when they went off, were so sure that they had learned 
the Magpie's secret, that they don't know to this day 
that their nests are not like hers. 

— Selected. 



That the soul be without knowledge is not good ; 
And he that hasteth with his feet sinneth. 

— Proverbs xix. 2. 



What did the thrush and the blackbird find ? 

Why did they want to see the Magpie build her nest ? 

Tell how the Magpie built her nest. 

What did the other birds do ? 

Why are their nests not so good as the Magpie's ? 



THE CHILDHOOD OF MOZART 47 

THE CHILDHOOD OF MOZART 
I 

About a hundred and fifty years ago, in an upper 
room of a small house in the old city of Prague, the 
town organist was sitting one evening with his wife 
and two children. The elder, a girl, was eleven years 
old, the younger was a delicate boy of six. 

Judging by the appearance of the room, they must 
have been very poor ; for, although the weather was 
bitterly cold, there was no fire, and their only furniture 
was a few chairs, a table, and an old piano. 

The children's clothes were fairly good, but the 
father's coat was almost threadbare, and the mother's 
dress was so patched and darned that one could hardly 
tell of what cloth it had at first been made. 

The father was reading, the mother working, and the 
little girl knitting ; while the boy, who had been running 
about, hoping that some one would talk to him, at last 
climbed up on the stool, and sat down at the piano. 

He played some scales with wonderful correctness, 
and then began to play a piece of his own, making it up 
as he went on. 

His tiny fingers flew lightly over the keys, bringing 
out tunes full of grace and beauty. His playing was 
so expressive that his father laid down his book, and 
his mother her work, to listen to him. 



48 DOING RIGHT 

"Come here and kiss me, Wolfgang," said the old 
organist in great delight. "With God's help you will 
be a great man, a great master, and a great composer 
some day. What a pity it is that I am not rich ! " 

"Are you very poor ?" asked Wolfgang. 

"I am indeed!" replied the father. "But I work 
hard to support you and Marianne, and I hope that 
before many years you will be able to support your- 
selves." 

"I think, Father," said Wolfgang, "you have worked 
quite long enough for us, and that it is now time for 
us to work for you." 

" But you are too young — too young, and too small." 

"Too small ! why, I am very nearly as tall as my 
piano." 

"My poor child, what could you do ?" 

"I could give lessons on the piano." 

His father and mother could not help smiling. 

"And to whom would you give lessons ?" asked 
his father. "Where could you get pupils younger 
than yourself?" 

"He could give lessons to older people," said 
Marianne thoughtfully. "When we were taking a 
walk the other day, near the castle, the lady of the 
castle met us, and asked if we were not the children 
of Mozart the organist. Then she took us to the castle 
with her, and asked Wolfgang to play on her piano. 

"Oh, Father, it was such a beautiful piano! it had 
golden flowers inlaid in the wood. And she was so 



THE CHILDHOOD OF MOZART 49 

pleased with Wolfgang and me — for I played also — 
that she gave us a whole ducat ; but you know that, 
Mother, for I gave it to you the moment we came 
home." 

"And now," said Wolfgang, "if father allows us, 
we will travel all over the country and play for people ; 
and we shall get a great deal of money, and give it 
all to you. Then you will not be poor any longer." 

The organist began to like the idea, but the poor 
mother had many fears. She thought it would tire 
the children too much, and did not like to think of 
such little ones being taken about the country to earn 
a livelihood. 

But little Wolfgang was not afraid. He showed 
how he would walk into a drawing-room, and bow, and 
sit down to the piano. "You will see," he said, "how 
well I shall get on. I will play, play, play, till you and 
my father have plenty of money." 

II 

In the palace at Vienna, the Empress Maria Theresa 
was receiving the guests she had invited to a grand 
concert. All the great people of the city were there. 
The room was brilliantly lighted, and the ladies' dresses 
were blazing with diamonds, while the officers* uniforms 
almost equaled them in splendor. 

Suddenly the door was opened, and, to the amaze- 
ment of the guests, a rather poorly dressed man with 
two little children entered. The man looked somewhat 



5° 



DOING RIGHT 




THE CHILDHOOD OF MOZART 



5i 



anxious, but the children did not seem to be in the 
least frightened at the sight of so much grandeur. 

"Is this the organist of Prague and his children, of 
whom I have heard so much ?" said the empress to one 
of her lords. 

"Yes, madam/' he replied; "and I can assure you 
that your Majesty has not heard too much. I heard 
the children play last night. The little girl is wonder- 
ful, but the little boy is much more surprising. " 

"Make them begin," said the empress. The organist 
led his children to the piano, before which he seated 
them. Very pretty they both looked — Marianne in a 
simple white frock, and Wolfgang in a little lilac tunic. 

Marianne played first. Her playing was so clear 
and so brilliant that every one was charmed with the 
pale, delicate-looking little girl, and when she had 
finished they greeted her with the warmest applause. 

"Oh, that is nothing to my brother's playing!" she 
said; and then she watched, with almost motherly 
interest, that he should be comfortably seated at the 
piano, and be raised high enough to have his hands 
quite free. 

Then the little fellow smiled pleasantly to the com- 
pany, and without an effort or a thought of the ad- 
miration he would gain, he began. Sometimes his 
fingers seemed to fly over the keys, so lightly did he 
touch them. Then he would linger on every note with 
an expression so soft and tender that tears started to 
the eyes of all who heard him. 



52 DOING RIGHT 

Every look was fixed on his nimble little fingers ; 
and the emperor and empress, along with their guests, 
were perfectly enchanted as well as astonished. 

When Wolfgang stopped, weary and pale, the em- 
press made a sign that he should come to her, and kiss 
her. 

He was soon seated on the empress' knee, while she 
fed him with cakes and sweets. 

"I am afraid you must be very tired, my child," 
she said kindly. 

"No, indeed, madam," he replied ; "I am so happy 
when I please father that I never feel very tired." 

"Still, I think it must sometimes tire you to play so 
much on the piano." 

"I do not play to amuse myself, but to help my 
father." 

"Do you know that if you go on playing, you will, 
some time or other, be a great man ?" 

"I hope so," he replied. "When I am older, I shall 
be able to compose operas, such beautiful operas ! 
and then my father and mother will be happy." 

Soon afterwards the guests departed, but not until 
they had given the children more money than they had 
ever had before. The next day they and their proud 
and happy father set out again on their travels. 

They went through France, Italy, England, and 
Germany. The children were everywhere admired, 
not only for their musical talents, but also for their 
love of their parents. 



HOW MILLER WAS CURED 53 

At length the organist had got enough money to 
keep his family in a little more comfort. Wolfgang 
was very carefully taught, and he worked so hard that 
by the time he became a man he was known everywhere 
as one of the greatest composers who ever lived. 

— Selected. 



A wise son maketh a glad father. 

— Proverbs xv. 20. 



1. Tell about the organist and his family. 

2. What did Wolfgang do ? 

3. What did his father tell him ? 

4. How did Wolfgang answer ? 

5. What plan did Marianne make? 

6. How did the father and mother feel about it ? 

7. What did Wolfgang say ? 

8. Where did the children go to play ? 

9. Tell about the concert. 

10. Why did people love these children ? 

11. What did the boy become ? 

12. By what name do we know him ? 



HOW MILLER WAS CURED 

I 

"Now then, Miller," said my master to me one day, 
"let us see what you know about your grammar 
lesson !" 



54 . DOING RIGHT 

These few simple words dumbfounded me, for I 
had not so much as looked at my books. For an 
hour I had been dreaming about the woods and the 
birds, and had forgotten all about my school work. 

"Don't you know your lesson?" asked Mr. Chain, 
looking sternly at me, and I had to confess that I did 
not. 

"I ought to have known as much," continued the 
master, "you were so quiet. I'll be bound you have 
not even looked at the book." And again I had to 
confess, with downcast eyes, that he was right. 

The master pulled out his handkerchief and slowly 
wiped his spectacles. Then he went to the mark- 
book and proceeded to sum up my bad marks. A 
murmur ran through the class, as the boys whispered, 
one to another, what they thought my punishment 
would be, until at last Mr. Chain called for silence. 

Then, turning to me, he said, "Stand up, Miller, and 
listen to me !" 

I stood up and folded my arms across my chest ; 
but, even then, the clucking of a hen seized my atten- 
tion, and I wondered whether the egg had been laid 
in the rick or in the hedge. 

"Are you listening?" demanded Mr. Chain, and so 
I drove from my mind all thoughts of hedges, eggs, 
and ricks, and strove to attend only to the words of 
the master, who again cried out, "Are you listening ?" 

"Yes, sir," said I, with faltering voice. 

"I forgave you a month ago," said Mr. Chain, 



HOW MILLER WAS CURED 55 

" because I believed you would try to do better. But 
I was mistaken. You have begun this month even 
worse than the last. 

"On Monday you were drawing men in your copy 
book, instead of doing your writing, and on Tuesday 
you did no home work, and now to-day, Wednesday, 
you have not even read your grammar lesson. 

"This must be stopped. So to-morrow, Thursday, 
instead of having a holiday with the rest of the boys, 
you will come to school from nine to eleven, and from 
two to five/' 

Having said these dreadful words, Mr. Chain turned 
to the class and went on with the grammar lesson, and 
I was left to my bitter thoughts. 

Every schoolboy and schoolgirl knows how miserable 
it is to be without one's comrades, whether at work or 
at play. 

But if it is miserable to play while your companions 
are in school, how much more miserable is it to be at 
school, and in disgrace,- while they are at play ! 

II 

When I got to the empty school at nine o'clock on 
Thursday morning, Mr. Chain did not lecture me again. 

He put his hand on my head, and said he was sorry 
to have to keep me in ; but that I must be broken of my 
bad habit of neglecting my work. "I hope," said he, 
"that this keeping-in will make you a more attentive 
boy." 



56 DOING RIGHT 

He wrote on the blackboard, "What you do, do well" 
and told me to fill a page of my writing book with 
this copy. "It will be a good thing for you," he added, 
"if you will keep this rule in mind when you are 
tempted to think about fields, woods, birds, and butter- 
flies, instead of minding your lessons. 

"I know," he continued, "that it is because you are 
careless, and not because you are wicked, that you 
do wrong. But the thought of to-day will keep you 
from being careless to-morrow. That is what I wish 
for and expect. 

"Do your very best, my boy," said he, on leaving me 
to myself, "first, because that will make the time pass 
quickly, and secondly, because it will make you happy 
to think that you are atoning for your fault." 

When the master left me alone in the empty school, 
I could not help crying. But I soon stopped that, and 
began to work. However, in spite of me, the rustling 
of the leaves and the singing of the birds in the wood 
would come into my mind. 

Still, after having written "What you do, do well" 
several times, I began to feel easier, and soon fin- 
ished my page of copy writing. There remained my 
sums. 

One of these was about a farmer who went to market 
to sell vegetables, cheese, and eggs. This caused me 
much trouble. 

While doing it, I could not help thinking of my play- 
mates, and the fine time they were having in the sun- 



HOW MILLER WAS CURED 



57 



shine. But my eyes happened to fall on the black- 
board, and "What you do, do well/' called me to my 
duty, and I gave my mind to the farmer and his eggs, 
and soon finished the sum. 

As it was only just eleven o'clock, I wrote another 
page of the copy. I had just finished this, when Mr. 
Chain walked in. 

"You have written this very nicely," said he ; "but 
why have you done two pages ? Was it simply to make 
me let you off, or because you wanted to do well what 
you were set to do ?" 

"Getting you to let me off never entered into my 
mind, sir/' cried I. And it was true. I had really 
written the entire page to see how much better I could 
write the copy. 

"I believe you, my boy," said the master, in a voice 
that showed approval. "You are an honest lad, I 
know." And then he thought a little before speaking 
again. 

At length he said, "I am so pleased with what you 
have done this morning, that I am going to give you a 
reward. Your punishment has done you good, because 
you have taken it like a man, without grumbling or 
bearing malice. You need not come back this after- 
noon, for I am sure that hereafter what you do, you 
will do well." 

— Selected. 



58 DOIXG RIGHT 



The soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing ; 
But the soul of the diligent shall be made fat. 

— Proverbs xiii. 4. 



1. What did the teacher ask Miller ? 

2. How did the teacher punish him ? 

3. What did Miller have to copy? 

4. What else did he have to do ? 

5. Why did Miller make another page of the copy ? 

6. What was his reward ? 

7. What would be a good motto for us ? 



THE STORY OF MOSES 
I 

THE PRINCE AND SHEPHERD 

One day a princess in Egypt went out of her palace, 
with her maids about her, to go to the river. As she 
drew near the bank, she heard a sound like a baby 
crying. This way she looked, and that way she looked, 
and at last in the water by the bank of the river she 
saw a box floating, and in the box was a baby. 

The princess took the box out of the river, and lifted 
the baby out of it, saying, "This must be one of the 
children of the Hebrews." Now there was a law in 
that country that the children of the Hebrews must be 
put to death as soon as they were born. The Egyp- 



THE STORY OF MOSES 



59 




Delaiocue. 

She Saw a Box Floating, and in the Box Was a Baby." 



60 DOING RIGHT 

tians were afraid that the Hebrew children would grow 
up into strong men and be their enemies. 

But the princess could not help loving the baby, and 
was very sorry. "He shall be my child," she said. 

Then a little girl came by that way. "Princess," 
she said, " if you wish a nurse for the baby, I can find 
you one." That was just what the princess wished. 

Now the little girl was the baby's own sister. Her 
name was Miriam and his name was Moses. Miriam 
was watching to see what would happen to him. And 
the nurse whom she found for the princess was the 
baby's mother ! 

So Moses grew up in Pharaoh's place, and went to 
school when he was old enough, and learned all the 
wisdom of the Egyptians. He lived like one of the 
princes. 

But one day, as he walked in the fields where men 
were working, he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew. 
At once Moses took the Hebrew's part, because he 
knew that he was a Hebrew himself. He struck the 
Egyptian, and so hard was the blow that the Egyptian 
fell down, and never got up again. 

Then Pharaoh the king was very angry, because he 
saw that the young prince was on the side of the He- 
brews ; and Moses had to run away. 

Off he went, then, across the Red Sea into the land 
of Midian, and became a shepherd. One day, as he 
fed his wandering flock, he came into the shadow of a 
mountain, and beside the mountain he saw a wonderful 



THE STORY OF MOSES 61 

sight. A bush was burning, and yet did not burn up. 
"I will look at that," said Moses ; "I will see why the 
bush does not burn up." 

But as he came near, he heard a voice in his soul 
telling him that that was a holy place. Then God 
spoke to him. "Moses," He said, "I have seen the 
troubles of my people, the Hebrews. I have heard 
their cry. I know how hard their masters, the Egyp- 
tians, make them work. Come now, go back to Egypt 
and bring them out." 

But Moses was afraid. "How can I bring them 
out ?" he said. "They will not follow me; and if 
they do, Pharaoh will follow us, and kill us all." But 
God said, "Certainly I will be with thee." So Moses 
left the land of Midian and went back to Egypt. 

II 

MOSES LEADING THE PEOPLE OUT OF EGYPT 

When Moses came again to Egypt he was joined by 
his brother Aaron, and they two went in to see the 
king. Of course, by this time, years and years had 
passed since Moses was a prince in Pharaoh's palace. 
Nobody remembered him. 

Moses said, "Our God has commanded us to meet 
Him in the wilderness." Pharaoh said : "You cannot 
go. You Hebrews are idle people. This is only an 
excuse to stop your work. I will make you work 
harder." And he did. He made them work so hard 



62 



DOING RIGHT 




THE STORY OF MOSES 63 

that they were angry at Moses and Aaron. "You 
have not helped us," they said. "You have made 
matters worse." 

Then Moses went again to Pharaoh and told him 
that if he would not let the people go, all sorts of evil 
things would happen to him and to the Egyptians. 
Firsts the River Nile should run red like blood. And 
so it was. But still Pharaoh would not let them go. 
Then out of the river came swarms of frogs, and flies 
came to feed upon the frogs, and there was a plague 
among the cattle, and storms of thunder and lightning, 
and locust, and darkness in the middle of the day. 
But Pharaoh would not let the people go. 

At last, one night, there came a sickness on the 
Egyptians, so that in every house some one was dead. 
Then Pharaoh let them go. Their neighbors gave them 
gold and silver and hurried them away. The sickness 
had not entered the houses of the Hebrews. It had 
passed over them. 

So out they went from Egypt, Moses and his people, 
to go to the mountain where God had spoken at the 
burning bush. But between Egypt and that land lay 
the Red Sea. After they had gone Pharaoh changed 
his mind. He was sorry he had let the people go. 
"What shall we do," he said, "for masons and car- 
penters* and for women to make our bread and wash 
our clothes ?" So he gathered his soldiers, and went 
after the Hebrews to bring them back. 

In the meantime, the Hebrews were marching toward 



64 DOING RIGHT 

the sea. High on a pole was carried a burning beacon 
to show the people which way to go. They could see 
the smoke of it by day, and the flame by night. They 
believed that just as this beacon went before them, 
so God was leading them ; and as their children told 
the story, they said : "The Lord went before them by 
day in a pillar of cloud, and by night in a pillar of fire, 
to give them light." 

Ill 

A GLAD SONG 

Behind the pillar of cloud by day, and the pillar 
of fire by night, the Hebrews marched toward the 
wilderness. Before them lay the Red Sea, like a long 
narrow lake. Their plan was to go around the end of 
it. But while the sea still stretched before them mile 
after mile, they heard a sound in the distance like the 
noise of a great multitude of horses galloping, and a 
sound like the noise of many men shouting, and a 
sound like armor jingling, and the clattering of chariots ; 
and, behold, out of Egypt came the army of Pharaoh, 
and Pharaoh himself leading them ! 

Then, you may be sure, the Hebrews were frightened. 
Some of them said, "Now the Egyptians will kill us/' 
Some said, "They will carry us back to work under the 
lash of the whip." Some said : "Why did we not 
stay in Egypt r Why did we follow Moses, only to 
die here in the desert ?" 



THE STORY OF MOSES 6$ 

On came the Egyptians. There was no escape. 
Between the enemy and the land of refuge rolled the 
sea. Then God spoke to Moses and Moses spoke to 
the people. Moses said : "Fear not ! Stand still, and 
see what God will do." 

Then the wind began to blow, a strong east wind. It 
blew against the waters of the shallow sea, and drove 
them back. And there, at the feet of the Hebrews, a 
road was opened straight across, where the waves of 
the sea had been. 

Into the sea rushed the Hebrews just as the Egyp- 
tians came up close behind. Over this new road they 
fled. And the Egyptians in their chariots came after 
them. But the road was not good for chariots. The 
wheels sank in the mud. The drivers urged their 
horses, but the horses could not pull them out. So 
the Hebrews on foot gained on the Egyptian horsemen. 

When the Hebrews reached the other side and were 
safe out of the reach of their enemies, suddenly the 
wind began to blow the other way. All the waves came 
back. And as they came, they rolled over the Egyp- 
tians, who were still struggling to get their chariots 
in motion. 

Soon the Hebrews, looking back toward Egypt from 
the other shore, saw nothing but the water of the sea, 
as smooth as if nothing had happened. All the chariots, 
all the drivers, all the fierce soldiers and their captains 
were underneath. 

Then Moses and his men sang a glad song of thanks- 



66 DOING RIGHT 

giving ; and Miriam and all the women, playing on 
timbrels and dancing, joined in the chorus : 

I will sing unto the Lord, (sang the men) 

The horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea. 

The Lord is a man of war : 

The Lord is His name. 

Pharaoh's chariots and his host hath He cast into the sea : 

His chosen captains also are drowned in the Red Sea. 

The depths have covered them : 

They sank into the bottom like a stone. 

And the women answered : 

Sing ye to the Lord. 

The horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea. 



IV 

GIFTS FOR THE HOUSE OF GOD 

Then the Hebrews marched and marched, day after 
day, across the desert, till they came at last to the 
mountain of the burning bush. There they pitched 
their tents in the plain at the foot of the mountain 
where Moses had fed his flocks, and Moses went up 
into the high mountain to talk with God. Over 
the top of the mountain was a thick cloud, and out of 
the cloud came thunderings and lightnings. 

On the plain below, the people waited. One day 
passed, and then another, and Moses did not come 
down. Up above, the black cloud covered the moun- 



THE STORY OF MOSES 




67 



68 DOING RIGHT 

tain. At last they said: "Moses is lost. He has 
been struck by lightning, or he has fallen over some 
steep place and is killed. We shall never see his face 
again." So they made Aaron their captain in the place 
of Moses. When the days had become weeks, and the 
weeks had become a month, they made a calf out of 
gold to be an image of God, such as they had seen in 
Egypt, because they knew no better. 

One day as they were singing and dancing around 
the calf which they had made, suddenly Moses came in 
sight, climbing down from the great mountain where 
he had been with God. Moses destroyed the golden 
calf, breaking it in pieces, and told them that God 
forbade them to worship images. He also taught 
them the Ten Commandments, which he had learned 
in the mountain. 

Then he said, "You must not make an image of 
God, but this is what God would have you do : He 
would have you make a house for Him to live in among 
you." 

Of course we know that God lives in all the earth and 
sky, and not in any single house. They might as well 
have built a house for the air to live in But God saw 
that he must somehow make it easy for them to be sure 
that he was with them. And He knew that the best 
thing for Him to do was to have them make a house, 
and set it apart for Him, and come there to say their 
prayers and sing their praises, and think of Him, as 
we do now in our churches. 



THE STORY OF MOSES 69 

So they made a house for God. It was a tent rather 
than a house, for they were all living in tents, and were 
soon to set out on their travels. It would be years 
and years before they could hope to settle down, and 
stay in one place, and build a city. But they made 
the most beautiful tent which they could make, of 
goat's hair woven into curtains, and of skins of animals, 
and of cloth of various colors, — red, and blue, and 
scarlet, and purple. In the tent they put their most 
precious things, gold and jewels. They took off their 
rings and bracelets, and had them melted to make 
gold dishes. 

So many were their gifts, and in such crowds did 
they come to bring them, for the making of the church, 
and to give thanks to God, that Moses had to stop 
them, saying, "Let neither man nor woman make any 
more work for the house of God." 

Then into the sacred tent they brought a box, and 
put it into the most holy place. The box was called 
the ark of God. And in the ark were the two stone 
tablets which Moses had brought down from the 
mountain, with the Commandments written upon them. 
That was the most precious thing they had. It was a 
far better reminder than any calf of gold ; for it taught 
them that the best service of God is a good life. 

Thus the house of God was made ; and wherever 
they went, in all their wanderings, they carried it with 
them, until they came to the Promised Land. 



70 DOING RIGHT 



THE STORY OF THE MANNA 

The mountain beside which the people were en- 
camped, when Moses gave them the Ten Command- 
ments, was far away from that Promised Land to which 
they hoped to go. The road lay across miles and miles 
of country in which there were no towns and no farms, 
only sand and bushes. There was not even any water, 
except in a few springs here and there. So it was a 
hard journey. 

The Promised Land was already filled with people, 
who lived in cities, having high and thick walls, and 
were strong to fight. The Hebrews, after their long 
slavery in Egypt, knew nothing about war. So be- 
fore they could venture to attack the Promised Land 
they must be made strong, and must be trained to be 
good soldiers. 

For this reason, Moses could not lead them straight 
across the desert into the new country. They were 
not ready for that. They must live out-of-doors, 
winter and summer, and learn how to get along with 
very little food and very little water. They must wait 
in the desert till they were brave and strong and patient. 

At first, they were impatient, like little children. 
When they were thirsty, they cried. When they were 
hungry, they cried. They knew that God had brought 
them out of Egypt, across the sea ; but when they could 



THE STORY OF MOSES 71 




© De Bruno ff. 1904. 

"In the Morning There Was Food upon the Ground." 



72 DOING RIGHT 

find no food, and when there were no wells in sight, 
they forgot that. Slowly they learned how to trust 
in God. 

Of course, the great problem of the desert was how 
to get enough to eat. What could this host of people 
do in a land where there were neither markets nor 
gardens ? Moses told them that God would still care 
for them. He, who had sent an east wind to drive 
back the sea that they might cross, would still give them 
His divine help. And behold, when hunger came 
upon them, and all night they cried and prayed to 
God, in the morning there was food upon the ground. 
"What is it ?" they said, as they saw the ground white 
about them. In the Hebrew language the word 
that means "What is it ?" is Manna! and that is the 
name by which they called it. Every morning, it 
lay like frost about the camp. 

Thus God cared for His people in the desert. Years 
passed and years passed, and at last the arms of the 
men were stout and the courage of the men was strong, 
and they were ready to invade the Promised Land. 
Moses led them to the river across which they saw that 
pleasant country. Then he gave the command to 
Joshua, and again, as in the former times, he climbed 
a mountain to be with God. But this time he did not 
come down. His long and great life was ended. He 
had served God and saved the people. So he went to 
his reward in heaven, and Joshua became the captain 
in his place. —George Hodges. 



ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL 73 



As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee ; I will not fail 
thee, nor forsake thee. 

— Joshua i. 5. 



1. What did the princess find when she went to the river ? 

2. Why had the baby been put there ? 

3. Who was the baby's nurse ? 

4. Where did Moses grow up ? 

5. Why did he go away ? 

6. Tell the story of the burning bush. 

7. What did Moses and his brother ask the king r 

8. What trouble came to Pharaoh's people ? 

9. What did Pharaoh finally do ? 

10. Who followed Moses and his people ? 

11. What happened when they came to the sea ? 

12. Where did Moses go ? 

13. What did the people make while he was gone t 

14. What happened when Moses came back ? 

15. What did Moses tell them to make ? 

16. Tell about this tent and what they put in it. 

17. How were the Hebrews fed in the desert ? 

18. What did all these things show ? 



ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL 

All things bright and beautiful, 
All creatures great and small, 

All things wise and wonderful — 
The Lord God made them all. 




74 



DOING RIGHT 




" All Things Bright and Beautiful, 
The Lord God Made Them All," 



ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL 75 

Each little flower that opens, 

Each little bird that sings — 
He made their glowing colors, 

He made their tiny wings. 

The purple-headed mountain, 

The river running by, 
The morning and the sunset 

That lighteth up the sky ; 

The tall trees in the greenwood, 

The pleasant summer sun, 
The ripe fruits in the garden — 

He made them every one. 

He gave us eyes to see them, 

And lips, that we might tell 
How great is God Almighty, 

Who hath made all things well. 

— Cecil Frances Alexander. 



He hath made everything beautiful in its time. 

— Ecclesiastes iii. 11 



1. Who made all beautiful things ? 

2. Mention some things God made. 

3. What has He given us ? 

4. Learn these verses. 



y6 DOING RIGHT 

A BOY AND HIS ALPHABET 

There was once a little shepherd boy who was out 
in the fields with the sheep one Sunday morning. 
He heard the church bells ringing to call the people to 
church, and he could see at a distance the people going 
up in little groups of twos and threes, and so coming to 
the door of the church and going in ; and there came 
over him a longing to pray to God, to ask Him to take 
care of him, and to make him good and happy. 

But how was he to pray ? For he did not know any 
prayer. He thought a moment, and then knelt down 
upon the grass where he was, put his hands together, 
as he had seen people doing in pictures and on old 
monuments, and began saying, "A, B, C." 

Now it happened that a man on his way to church was 
passing along on the other side of the hedge. He saw 
the boy kneeling down with closed eyes and joined 
hands, and heard him saying the letters of the alphabet, 
and wondered what he was doing. So he stopped a 
moment, and called to the boy in a kindly voice, " My 
boy, what are you doing ?" 

The boy looked up. "Please, sir, I was praying." 
"But what are you saying your alphabet for ?" 
"Oh, I don't know any proper prayer, but I wanted 
to ask God to take care of me, and to bless me, and to 
help me. So I thought I would just say all I did know, 
and that He would put the letters together and spell 
them out, and understand what I mean." 



A BOY AND HIS ALPHABET 77 

"And so He will, and He does, my boy," said the 
gentleman. " But if you like, I will teach you the 
one great prayer which our Lord taught His disciples/' 
And, sitting down there by the boy's side, he taught 
him to pray to God in the words of the Lord's Prayer. 

— L. M. Dalton. 



THE LORD'S PRAYER 

Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. 
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is 
in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And for- 
give us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass 
against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver 
us from evil : For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and 
the glory, for ever and ever. Amen. 

— Matthew vi. 9-13. 



1. What did the shepherd boy hear ? 

2. What did he see ? 

3. What did he want to do ? 

4. How did he pray ? 

5. Who heard the boy ? 

6. What did the boy tell the man ? 

7. What did the man teach the boy ? 

8. Where do we find this prayer ? 

9. Learn the Lord's Prayer. 



PART III 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 

I 

One day Mr. Stomach, who lived inside of Billy 
Bates, was feeling very sad. Of all the strange things 
that were happening nothing would even tempt Mr. 
Stomach to smile. He was discouraged. He felt that 
no matter how hard he might work, it was of no use. 
Billy compelled him to work overtime and seemed un- 
willing to give him a chance to rest. He would eat 
between meals, and eat more than he ought at meals, 
so that poor Mr. Stomach had more than a fair day's 
work to do. In fact, he had to keep working long 
after Billy had gone to sleep. 

Billy was a vigorous lad, and of course he was very 
fond of sport. He was captain of the school baseball 
nine, and captain of the football team also. So much 
exercise in the open air made him hungry. Indeed, his 
appetite was so keen that he would not give Mr. Saliva, 
who lived in Billy's mouth, time enough to soften what 
Billy ate before it left his mouth for Mr. Stomach's 
house, so that this gentleman had to try to digest all 
this food without the aid of his friend. 

One day, when Mr. Stomach was feeling saddest, 
Mr. Liver looked over the fence, and, seeing his neigh- 
bor in such a sorry state, said : 

G 81 



82 DOING RIGHT 

"What's the matter, neighbor ? You look as if you 
had lost all your friends." 

"Lost all my friends?" replied Mr. Stomach. "It 
is worse than that. Billy Bates has me in his power, 
and he treats me as though I were a slave. He has no 
mercy, and, so far as I can see, there is no hope for me." 

"Oh ! cheer up, neighbor," said Mr. Liver. "I don't 
think it is quite so bad as that." 

Just then Mrs. Blood and her large family of children 
came along. They were not so well as usual because 
of Billy's bad conduct, but Mrs. Blood always tried to 
look on the bright side of things. 

"Good morning, Mr. Stomach. Good morning, Mr. 
Liver," she said in her cheery manner. 

"Good morning," grumbled Mr. Stomach — not very 
politely. He even forgot to take his hat off to the 
bright lady. Mr. Liver, although he felt a little dull, 
was more thoughtful. Mrs. Blood's children bowed in 
a very courteous manner to such important people as 
Mr. Stomach and Mr. Liver. 

"You don't look very happy, Mr, Stomach," said 
Mrs. Blood, in passing. 

"Well, I don't feel very happy." 

"Why, what's the matter?" 

"Matter enough," he answered, in a surly tone. 
"You yourself don't move quite so lively as usual. 
What's the matter with you?" 

"Well," said Mrs. Blood, good-naturedly, "Billy 
hasn't been behaving very well lately, and all of us 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 83 

must suffer. I just left friend Heart, and he was com- 
plaining, too. He said that he had to pump harder 
than ever to send me and my large family all through 
Billy's veins and arteries. " 

"Please stay awhile, Mrs. Blood, and let us talk it 
over." 

"I am sorry," said the lady in red, politely, "but I 
must hurry along. However, here is Mrs. Nerves. 
She will talk with you." Then, with a polite "Good 
morning," she and her family moved on, but more 
slowly than usual. 

"Complaining again?" said Mrs. Nerves to Mr. 
Stomach. 

"Yes, he's at it again," replied Mr. Liver, with a 
chuckle, before his neighbor got a chance to reply. 

"I know how you feel. I am feeling a little like 
that myself," remarked the sprightly, but sometimes 
irritable Mrs. Nerves. 

" It is simply frightful the way Billy sends doughnuts 
down here," complained Mr. Stomach. "One would 
think the whole outside world was made of doughnuts. 
The woman who invented doughnuts ought to be put in 
state's prison," replied the poor overworked man. 

"It may have been a man who invented them," 
said Mrs. Nerves, with a saucy turn of her pretty 
head. 

"Well," laughed Mr. Liver, "men and boys eat 
them anyhow." 

"Yes," said his grumbling neighbor, "and Billy 



84 DOING RIGHT 

eats more than his share, not only of doughnuts, but 
of other greasy things. I can't digest all the stuff he 
sends down here. Much of it turns into a poisonous 
acid and then it makes all of you suffer. Billy must be 
taught a lesson." 

"Dear me !" exclaimed Mrs. Nerves, who loved Billy 
with all his faults, "you don't mean to hurt him ?" 

"Yes, that's just what I mean. It is about time 
that he learned good manners and fair play." Mr. 
Liver thought so too, and they decided to ask Judge 
Brain what was the wise thing to do. Mrs. Blood and 
Mrs. Nerves were appointed a committee to see the 
Judge, and to report at the next meeting. 

II 

Mrs. Nerves and Mrs. Blood called on Judge Brain 
after dinner. Billy had eaten an unusually large meal. 
The Judge felt rather drowsy. That's the way Billy's 
eating affected him. 

After listening to what Mrs. Nerves and Mrs. Blood 
had to say, the Judge decided that Billy must be 
punished. He said that Billy's careless eating was in- 
terfering with everybody's work. It was time to put 
an end to it. 

"Yes," said Mrs. Nerves, "but don't let us be too 
hard on Billy." 

"Not any harder than we must," replied the Judge. 
'You told me yesterday that he was getting his base- 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 85 

ball nine ready to play with the Norwalk team next 
Saturday. Tell all the other folks that we must unite 
to make Billy's nine lose the game. We shall have to 
make Captain Billy so weak that he will not be able 
to pitch more than five or six innings. It is too bad, 
but it must be done." 

"Oh, I am so sorry," said Mrs. Nerves. "Billy 
has worked so hard to get his boys ready for the game." 

"I am sorry, too, but it can't be helped," said the stern 
Judge. "It is for Billy's own good. Tell Mr. Stomach 
to arrange for Billy to have a severe attack of cramps. 
It must be so painful that he will not soon forget it." 

Poor Mrs. Nerves and Mrs. Blood went back to 
Mr. Stomach's house. They told him what Judge 
Brain had advised. Mrs. Nerves telephoned Mr. 
Liver to look over the fence. She sent word to Mr. 
and Mrs. Lung and to Mr. Heart also. They all 
agreed that Judge Brain advised the right thing, and 
they decided to punish Billy with cramps. Mr. 
Stomach told the plan to the whole Gastric Juice 
family. This family didn't feel very kindly toward 
Billy. They had been overworked, too, because of his 
eating, so they were ready to help to punish him. 

Poor Billy ! all his friends inside were against him, 
although they really loved him. He was in the 
wrong, and they wanted to set him right. 

Well, Friday night came. It was the night before 
the game. In the afternoon Billy had put his nine 
through a practice game. Of course, he was hungry 



86 DOING RIGHT 

after being out in the open air coaching his team. 
Although he had been cautioned by his mother, he 
soon forgot, and again ate faster and much more than 
he should have eaten. 

Aunt Bess came from New York to see the game. 
She couldn't afford to let pass such a chance of visiting 
Billy, Betty, and Ben. After Billy had studied his 
lessons for Monday, he thought that it was time to go 
to bed. He wanted to have a good rest before the big 
game. So he bade Aunt Bess and his mother good 
night, and soon was dreaming of putting a swift ball 
with an in-curve right over the home plate. 

But, alas ! his dream changed. Very soon his boys 
were making all sorts of errors. They were missing 
easy "flies," and striking "fouls." They couldn't 
hit the ball, and Billy himself couldn't put one swift 
ball over the plate. His strength seemed to leave 
him, and the Norwalk boys were batting the ball all 
over the field. Billy was in great distress. The harder 
he and his boys tried, the worse they seemed to play. 
The Norwalk players were far in the lead, and Billy 
was sure that his nine would be defeated. 

Then he began to have pains in his sleep. They grew 
sharper and sharper. He thought that he was on the 
diamond, and had to be taken out of the pitcher's box 
because he was in such pain. Before long he waked up 
and found himself doubled up with cramps. Oh dear ! 
how they did hurt ! Poor Billy had one cramp after 
another. But he was a brave lad. He would endure 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 87 

more than most boys without saying a word. He tried 
to do so this time, but never before had anything hurt 
him so much. It seemed as if he could not bear it any 
longer. 

"We must give him some more," said Mr. Stomach 
to Mrs. Nerves. 

"Can't we stop now?" said poor Mrs. Nerves. 
"He is suffering dreadfully." 

"I know it," said Mr. Stomach, "but we can't help 
it." 

Just then Billy had another cramp, and he shrieked 
with pain. 

Both his mother and Aunt Bess heard him. They 
hurried to his room to find out what the matter was. 
Poor Billy ! There he lay writhing and moaning. 
Aunt Bess filled the hot water bottle and placed it just 
below Mr. Stomach. But it only made that gentleman 
perspire. It didn't seem to help Billy very much. 
So she quickly called up Dr. Wright on the telephone. 
The Doctor hurried to Billy's bedside, and in about 
half an hour Billy was again free from pain. But, 
oh ! those thirty minutes ! They seemed a year. Billy 
had suffered so much that he lay exhausted on his bed. 
The Doctor remained until Billy was asleep, and then 
left the room. Aunt Bess went to the door with him. 
On the way, she said, "Doctor, what about to- 
morrow ? " 

The Doctor shook his head sorrowfully, saying, 
"This means that Billy's nine will lose the game." 



88 



DOING RIGHT 




BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 89 

"Oh no! Doctor, you don't mean it?" said Aunt 
Bess. " That would be too bad ! " 

"I am sorry," said the Doctor, "but it can't be 
helped. Billy won't have strength enough to pitch 
nine innings, and without Billy our nine can't win. 
I'll come to see him in the morning. Good night." 
And the old Doctor, who had been Billy's friend from 
the time he was born, went home feeling just as blue as 
Aunt Bess felt. 

Ill 

Saturday morning came. It was the day of the big 
game. The children of all the grades in the Stamford 
schools were greatly excited. Their parents and 
teachers were excited, too. The Stamford and Nor- 
walk schools were great rivals. Every year the contest 
between the Seventh Grades of both schools took place, 
so that the people of both sides were much interested. 

After breakfast Dr. Wright called on Billy. He was 
very anxious that Billy should be ready for the game. 
The Doctor felt his pulse and asked to see his tongue. 
"Better than I expected," said the Doctor. But 
Billy was still feeling weak because of last night's 
cramps and loss of sleep. 

"Now, Billy," said the Doctor, "I am sorry to say 
it, but you will not be able to pitch nine innings to-day." 

"Oh, Doctor !" exclaimed Billy, "I must, or we shall 
lose the game." 

"Can't help it," said the Doctor. "You are not 



9 o DOING RIGHT 

strong enough. You had better put Ted Tompkins 
in the box after the fifth inning." 

Billy's jaw dropped. He was greatly disappointed. 
He wanted his nine to win. He knew that Ted was 
not a first-rate pitcher, and that the Norwalks had a 
strong nine. 

"I am sorry, Billy. I want our boys to win just as 
much as you do, but I know you will not be strong 
enough to pitch the entire game." 

"Why did I get cramps just as this time i" said Billy, 
impatiently. 

"Because you have been eating too much and too 
fast," said the Doctor. "I am not going to give you a 
lecture about it, Billy. We have three games to play 
with the Norwalks. If you lose to-day, you have still 
a chance to win the series. But you must put yourself 
in good condition. Be careful about your eating. Now 
cheer up, my boy. You may still win in the end." 

Billy loved the Doctor, and he knew that the Doctor 
loved him. He tried to look cheerful, but it was not 
an easy task. The Doctor told him that he might get 
up for breakfast, but cautioned him again to be careful 
about eating too fast and too much. After breakfast 
Billy began to feel fairly well. He felt sure that he 
would be all right when the game was called. 

This was to take place at three o'clock in the 
afternoon. More than four hundred children, with 
their teachers, were coming from Norwalk. About 
seven hundred Stamford boys and girls with their 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 91 

parents and teachers were also expected to be present. 
Do you wonder that Billy was eager to pitch and to 
help his nine win the game ? 

As the hours passed by, Billy grew stronger. He was 
delighted. He felt that he could play all through the 
game. When he sat down to dinner, he ate slowly 
and didn't eat too much. He had learned a lesson the 
night before. He did not want any more cramps, so 
there was no need of his mother's warning to put him 
on his guard. 

Five minutes before three o'clock the benches on the 
ball grounds were full. The friends of the Norwalk 
nine, led by a brass band, had marched from the depot 
to the field. They carried orange-colored flags. The 
Stamford boys and girls, waving flags of blue and gold, 
marched to the music of a band across the grounds. 
When the two nines came on the field, they were wel- 
comed with loud cheers. 

The Norwalks were first to bat. Billy took his place 
in the pitcher's box amid wild shouts of the Stamford 
boys and girls. Old Dr. Wright and Aunt Bess were 
just a little nervous, but Billy began well. He struck 
the first batter out. The second batter hit to short- 
stop and was put out at first base. The third man 
popped a foul which was caught by the catcher. Score 
— o. 

Again the friends of the Blue and Gold sent up a loud 
cheer. But they held their breath as the first batter 
of the Stamford team tried to hit the ball. Alas ! 



92 DOING RIGHT 

he struck out. So did the second batter. Billy came 
next. He hit the ball, and it went whizzing along the 
ground between first and second base. He reached first 
base with seven hundred voices cheering him as he ran. 

The Norwalk pitcher watched him closely. He 
didn't mean to give Billy a chance to steal second if he 
could help it. As he threw the ball toward the home 
plate a third time, Billy ran toward second, but it was 
of no use. The batter struck the ball into right field. 
The right fielder caught it, and, of course, the batter 
was out. Score — o. 

So the game at the close of the first inning stood o — o. 
Both sides continued to play well, and at the close of 
the fifth inning the game still stood o — o. 

When Billy entered the box for the sixth inning, 
Dr. Wright and Aunt Bess were more nervous than ever. 
The Doctor felt sure that Billv would not be able to 
pitch much longer. Billy, however, thought he could 
pitch through the nine innings, and he was determined 
to do so. 

But alas ! his arm soon grew weak, and the Norwalk 
batters began to hit the ball. Before long there was 
a runner on each base and there was only one man out. 
Billy saw that unless he could do better the runners 
would score, and he used all his strength and skill to 
prevent it. 

Just then Mrs. Nerves became tender-hearted. 
She didn't want Billy to be punished again. She 
thought that he had suffered enough the night before, so 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 93 

she asked Mrs. Blood to help her to help Billy win the 
game. She said that she would like to but she could 
do very little more than she had done. Billy had 
made it impossible for her to do her best. 

Poor Mrs. Nerves wrung her hands and looked 
worried. But there was not much time for worrying. 
It was a time for action. She made up her mind to 
help the whole Muscle family to give strength to Billy's 
arm. So when Billy threw the next ball, Mrs. Nerves 
helped to speed the ball over the plate. The umpire 
shouted, "One strike !" All the Stamford children 
cheered. When Billy threw the next ball, Mrs. Nerves 
did the same thing. The umpire called, "Two strikes !" 
When Billy threw the next ball, "Three strikes. Batter 
out !" Then the Blue and Gold boys and girls were 
wild with joy. They cheered Billy again and again. 
Mrs. Nerves was happy, too, and Mr. Heart leaped 
just as if he were playing leap-frog. 

But there was one more man to put out. "Dear 
me !" said Mrs. Nerves, "what can I do ? I am growing 
weaker and weaker every moment. Ezekiel Muscle 
and his family are no stronger than I am. Oh ! Billy, 
Billy ! I am afraid you will fail." 

Billy threw the next ball, but it moved more slowly 
than the others. The batter struck it and sent it far 
into left field. Two of the runners scored, and the 
other reached third base. 

Poor Billy ! he was a brave boy. He knew that he 
was growing weaker. He tried again and again, but 



94 DOING RIGHT 

each time he pitched worse than before. The runner 
on third base soon scored. Three more batters made 
first base, and one of them reached the home plate be- 
fore the close of the sixth inning. The game now stood 
4 — o in favor of the Norwalks. 

It was decided that Ted Tompkins should take 
Billy's place in the box. The friends of the Blue and 
Gold- felt sorry. Billy was a popular lad. Everybody 
liked him. They had learned to rely upon him. With 
Billy no longer in the box they were sure the game was 
lost. Betty and Kitty Howard just wanted to cry, 
and a little tear did peek out of Aunt Bess' eye. Ben 
was sad and silent. 

Inside Mr. Heart was almost broken ; still, he was 
brave. Mrs. Nerves sighed, and she and Mrs. Blood 
talked the matter over mournfully. When Mr. 
Stomach learned that Billy had to leave the box, he 
was full of regret just as on the day before he was full 
of doughnuts. 

As Billy left the pitcher's box to walk to the players' 
bench, he was cheered by the crowd. Even the Nor- 
walk people cheered him. He had done his best, but 
his strength had failed. He put his sweater on and 
did all that he could to cheer up his nine. He was 
especially anxious to encourage Ted. 

The Stamford nine played well, but the Norwalks 
played better. Although Ted pitched well, the game 
was really lost when Billy left the box. The Norwalks 
finally won, and the score was 6 — o. 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 95 

IV 

After the game Billy carefully thought things over. 
He felt that it was on his account that the Stamford 
nine had lost the game. He made up his mind that 
it would not be his fault if they were again defeated. 
He knew that an athlete, like everybody else, must be 
careful about eating if he wants to be strong. He had 
two more chances to beat the Norwalk nine. So, after 
talking with his friend Dr. Wright, he decided to give up 
eating between meals, and to chew his food thoroughly 
before swallowing it, and not to eat too much. He 
slept every night with his windows wide open, and 
this fresh air helped to keep his blood pure. He 
slept nine hours, because the Doctor told him an active 
boy of his age needed so much sleep. He kept his 
body clean so that Mrs. Skin could throw off poisons 
through her pores. He took exercise on rainy days 
when he could not play ball. 

When the next two games with the Norwalks were 
played, Billy was in fine form. He pitched as he had 
never pitched before. His nine won the second game 
of the series 5 — 1. The third game was closer. In the 
eighth inning it stood o — o. But all Billy's friends in- 
side rallied to his support. Since the first game Billy 
had treated them well. So they made up their minds 
to do all that they could to help him win. Just before 
he stepped into the box Judge Brain sent word through 
Mrs. Nerves to all of the people inside to do their best 



96 DOING RIGHT 

for Billy. And all of them came to Billy's aid. It is 
really wonderful how brave Mr. Heart is and how 
strong the Muscle family are when Judge Brain and 
Mrs. Nerves decide to do things. They all worked 
together to strengthen Billy's arms, legs, and body. 

So when Billy stepped into the box, he was in fine 
fettle. Mr. Heart wore the red badge of courage. 
Mrs. Blood's face was bright with hope. Mrs. Nerves 
was steady, and Judge Brain was calm and careful. 

In a short time Billy had struck two men out. 
Could he do the same with a third ? 

Whiz-z-z-z went the first ball over the plate, and Ben 
shouted that the batter had "fanned the air." 

Whiz-z-z-z went a second ball over the plate, and 
the batter "fanned the air" again, and Ben, in his 
glee, jumped so high that he nearly fell off the bench. 

"One more like that, Billy!" shouted the Stamford 
boys. And Billy threw one more. This time it was 
an in-curve. The batter struck hard and the umpire 
shouted : 

"Strike three !" Then you ought to have heard the 
cheering. 

Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! 
Stamford! Stamford!! Stamford!!! 
came From seven hundred throats. I don't believe 
that you ever heard such cheering in all your lite. 
Flags were waving, and caps were flying in the air. 

The Blue and Gold now went to the hat to complete 
the inning. Could they score ? If so, the game would 



BILLY'S BEST FRIENDS PUNISH HIM 97 

be theirs, and with it they would win the series. Ex- 
citement was at the highest pitch. The Norwalk 
pitcher was nervous. Billy was now at the bat. 
Everything depended on him. Could he hit the ball ? 
He missed the first two balls. And every Stamford 
boy and girl was nervous. But all of Billy's inside 
friends came to his aid. Judge Brain told Mrs. Nerves 
to be steady, and she strengthened Billy's muscles. 
Finally a swift ball came along and Billy struck. 
He sent the ball over the left fielder's head. The two 
men on bases reached the home plate, and Billy, with 
the aid of his friends inside, soon followed with a home 
run. Oh ! what excitement ! The Stamford boys and 
girls were wild with joy. They shouted and cheered 
and jumped up and down on the benches while the 
band played. All at once the Blue and Gold boys 
rushed on the field. They lifted Billy and his players 
upon their shoulders. Then, with the band playing a 
lively tune, they marched around the field. 

Soon they came in front of the benches. Oh ! how 
the boys and girls did shout. Betty and Ben and Kitty 
Howard were wild with joy. Aunt Bess waved the blue 
and gold flag with all her might. Good old Dr. Wright 
was spinning his high silk hat on the top point of his 
cane. 

Inside of Billy there was a broad grin on Mr. 
Stomach's face. He forgot all about doughnuts and 
greasy things. Mr. Liver's chuckle was almost like a 
schoolgirl's giggle. Mrs. Blood's face was flushed with 



98 DOING RIGHT 

victory. Mrs. Nerves was dancing to the music of 
the band. Mr. Heart beat in time with the bass drum 
outside. Even Judge Brain forgot that he was a judge 
and was almost as giddy as his sister, Mrs. Nerves. 

So there was joy among the people without and 
within. When Billy saw and felt all this, he said to 
himself, "This is better than careless eating and 
cramps !" And Mrs. Nerves, who heard what he said, 
was so pleased that, although she knew that it was not 
a proper thing to do, she winked at Mr. Stomach. That 
grave gentleman simply grinned and nodded his head. 

— Warren Douglas. 



Know ye not that they that run in a race run all, but one re- 
ceiveth the prize ? Even so run ; that ye may attain. And 
every man that striveth in the games exerciseth self-con- 
trol in all things. Now they do it to receive a corruptible 
crown; but we an incorruptible. 

— I Corinthians ix. 24-25. 



1. Who were Billy's inside friends ? 

2. What made Mr. Stomach sad ? 

3. How did Judge Brain plan to punish Billy ? 

4. What happened that night ? 

5. What did Billy have to do next day ? 

6. How did the game end ? 

7. What did Billy decide to do ? 

8. Who won the second game ? 

9. Tell about the last game. 



THE COURAGE COUNTRY 99 

THE COURAGE COUNTRY 

Jack, the miller's lad, was in a very bad way indeed. 
So, in fact, was the miller, and everyone else at the mill. 
What the reason was I cannot tell you. The day was 
a dull one, perhaps that was why every one was cross. 

The miller thought some work was done which was 
not done at all. That was the first thing that upset 
him. So he scolded. I don't think he knew quite how 
hard he scolded, but Jack did ; and when the scolding 
was finished, he threw down the slate that he held in 
his hands, and seized his cap, and rushed away to find 
the green field that lay high on the slope above the mill. 

Jack had not wept when the miller scolded him, but 
now that he was alone he threw himself upon the green 
grass, and cried with all his heart. Poor Jack ! he had 
to work at the mill, and also at his lessons, for he was 
not to be a miller like his uncle ; and to-day neither the 
mill nor his lessons had gone well. 

He was still weeping, but more quietly, when from 
his hole not far distant Mr. Rabbit poked out his head 
to find out what the queer noise was about. The little 
creature listened for a few moments, then he drew his 
head in again, and scuttled away. 

Now Jack was almost quiet, when he started, and 
held his breath to hear a tiny squeaky voice, which 
seemed to come from the earth just beneath his head. 

"Well," it said, "have you found out the meaning 
of that horrid dreadful noise ?" 



too DOING RIGHT 

And another squeaky thin little voice replied, "It 
is only Jack, the miller's lad, who is weeping because 
his work is difficult." 

When Jack heard this remark he stopped weeping 
altogether, and drew his hands from his eyes that he 
might press close to the grass, and hear more of what 
these odd little voices said. Then he saw that across 
the grass ran a crack in the earth about as wide as his 
finger, so he put his eye close to it and peered through. 

At first he could make out nothing at all, but after 
a while he could see Mr. Rabbit and his wife, and a little 
later he made out the quaintest, oddest little brown man 
in the world, who sat in a corner of the wide hole 
beneath the crack, with his legs crossed, and his head 
on one side. 

"All work is difficult," said he in a husky little voice 
that almost set Jack laughing; "but in the Courage 
Country everybody does not cry over it. Just tell 
me what is the use of crying — unless you are a goose, 
like Jack, the miller's lad, and cannot do anvthing 
else?" 

At this Jack started up indignantly. "I am not a 
goose!" cried he. No one answered, and when Jack 
looked through his peep-hole again he saw that Mr. 
Rabbit, and his wife, and the little man had moved 
from their seats and were listening with all their might. 

"It was nothing but the wind," said the little brown 
man at last. 

"It was nothing but the wind," repeated Mr. and 



THE COURAGE COUNTRY 101 

Mrs. Rabbit ; and Jack again wanted to laugh, seeing 
the wise air they put on, trembling all the time. 

But the little brown man was talking again. "Look 
at me," he said. "If any work is difficult, surely mine 
is ; but I just go on my way and do my best. I am the 
Little Brown Schoolmaster of the Fields. Who teaches 
the farmers' seeds to grow ? — I do. My task is to 
see that he gets his harvest, and a very hard task it is. 
But I work on, and do my best." 

"I suppose the seeds are very hard to teach?" said 
Mrs. Rabbit timidly. 

"Not a bit of it ; they are the best children in the 
world, and try their hardest," said the Field School- 
master proudly. "They are not easily discouraged, 
like Jack, the miller's lad. But, think of it, when I 
have taught them how to meet the Rain, and thrive on 
it, out comes that imp the Sunlight, and scorches with 
all his might. 'This is how to behave in the Sunlight,' 
say I, and — down comes the Rain." 

"That is very hard," said Mr. Rabbit gently. 

"It is," said the little Schoolmaster; "but then it 
keeps me busy. And we all struggle on for the farmers' 
sake." 

"I, too, have my difficulties," said Mr. Rabbit, 
after a pause. "There is Tan, the miller's dog, who 
is always a terror to me. Many a time when I have 
been out on a journey, has he set himself to wait for 
me, to do me harm. There are times when I am afraid 
to put my nose outside my door ; but there, when I 



102 DOING RIGHT 

must go out, I go out ; for that is the only thing to do 
— to go on one's way and hope for the best." 

"What he says is quite true/' said Mrs. Rabbit, 
and she nodded her head. Then they all three turned, 
for a tiny faint little voice began to speak, it seemed 
from the far distance. Jack had to strain his ears to hear. 

"Even to go on one's way is not always so easy," 
it said. "Listen to me. I am the tiniest plant in the 
miller's garden. When I was a seed, I thought I 
should not be able to grow at all, for the miller's wife 
planted me under a stone. When I started to grow, and 
hit my head against it, I thought, 'This is enough to 
stop any one's growing, I need not try any more.' 
But after I had tried and tried, and stretched and 
struggled, I wound my way round the stone's edge ; 
and now my flower uplifts itself to the sun." 

"That is the only way — to keep on trying," said 
the Field Schoolmaster. 

But Jack, the miller's lad, did not hear that remark ; 
for he had gone off to the mill to try again. 

— Selected. 



Be strong and of good courage, and do it : fear not, nor be 
dismayed ; for the Lord God, even my God, is with thee ; 
He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. 

— I Chronicles xxviii. 20. 



1 . Who was Jack ? 

2. What did the miller do ? 



THE LEGEND OF THE DIPPER 103 



3. 


Where did Jack go ? 


4- 


What did he do when he got to the field ? 


5- 


What did Jack hear ? 


6. 


Whom did he hear talking ? 


7- 


What did the little man say ? 


8. 


Who was this little man ? 


9- 


What did the plant say ? 


10. 


What did Jack do ? 




THE LEGEND OF THE DIPPER 

There was once a little girl who had a dear mother, 
and they lived quite alone in a little house in the woods. 
They were always very happy, but one day the mother 
grew so ill that it seemed as if she could never be strong 
and well again. 

"I must have a drink of clear, cold water," she cried, 
as she lay in bed, so weak and suffering from thirst. 

It was a dark night, and there was no one near to 
ask for water ; so the little girl took her tin dipper and 
started out alone to the spring to fetch her mother a 
drink. She went a long way through the woods, and 
she ran so that she grew very tired, being such a tiny 
girl ; but she filled her tin dipper at the spring and 
started home. 

Sometimes the water spilled, because it was not easy 
to carry, and sometimes the little girl stumbled over 
the stones in the dark road. All at once she felt a 
warm touch upon her hand, and she stopped. It was 



104 



DOING RIGHT 




He Reached Out His Hand for the Dipper, and Begged for 
a Drink of Clear, Cold Water." 



THE LEGEND OF THE DIPPER 105 

a little dog who had been following her; for he, too, 
was nearly dying of thirst, and he had touched her hand 
with his hot tongue. 

The little girl looked at her dipper. There was only 
a very little water in it, but she poured a few drops 
into her hand, and let the thirsty dog lap them. He 
seemed as refreshed as if he had been to the river to 
drink. And a wonderful thing happened to the tin 
dipper — although the little girl did not see. It was 
changed to a silver dipper, with more water in it than 
before. 

The little girl started on again, hurrying very fast, 
for she remembered how much her mother needed her ; 
but she had not gone very far when she met a stranger 
in the road. He was tall, and wore shining garments, 
and his eyes looked down with a wonderful smile into 
the little girl's face. He reached out his hand for the 
dipper, and begged for a drink of the clear, cold water. 

Now the little girl thought how her mother had told 
her that she should be always kind to a stranger ; so 
she held the water up to his lips. And very suddenly, 
as the stranger drank, the silver dipper was changed to 
a gold dipper, — full to the brim with sparkling water. 

The little girl hurried on ; but the road was so very 
long, and she was so tired, that it seemed as if she could 
never reach home again. She was weak and faint, and 
she longed to drink just a few drops of the water ; but, 
no, her mother would need all that was left. Had 
she not given some to the thirsty dog and to the 




106 DOING RIGHT 

stranger ? So she never took a drink herself, but has- 
tened home and carried it to the dear mother. And 
then came the greatest wonder of all ! As soon as the 
mother drank, she became quite well and strong once 
more ; and the gold dipper, as it touched her lips, was 
changed to a diamond dipper — all shining and blazing 
with glittering gems ! 

And the diamond dipper left her fingers to shine up 
in the sky, over the house and the woods. There it 
shines every night to tell all little children how once a 
child was brave and unselfish and kind. 

Adapted from An Old Legend by Carolyn S. Bailey. 



Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a 
cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, verily I 
say unto you he shall in no wise lose his reward. 

— Matthew x. 42. 



What did the sick mother want ? 

What did the little girl do ? 

Tell about the people she met. 

What happened when she got home ? 

When you see the "Big Dipper," what will you think of? 



A PRAYER 

" Grant, O heavenly Father, that we may so believe 
in Thee, and so love one another, that we, being fruit- 
ful in all good works, may lead our lives according to 
Thy blessed will." Amen. 



DAN'S DREAM 107 

DAN'S DREAM 

I 

"Mother, where is my hat ?" 

"I don't know, Dan; but you ought to. Where 
did you put it ?" 

"O bother!" exclaimed Dan crossly. "Billy must 
have hidden it. I'll get even with him ! Just wait !" 

"It is much more likely that you have left it some- 
where," said his mother quietly. "What is that dark 
object on the lawn ? I saw Dorothy's puppy playing 
with it a little while ago." 

Dan dashed out into the yard. "O the little 
wretch!" he cried. "I'll thrash him soundly. It's 
my cap that I threw down Saturday when we were 
playing ball." 

"I should blame somebody else than the puppy, 
Dan," said his mother. "Why shouldn't he play with 
a thing of so little value that it is left all night in the 
yard ? My boy, why will you be so disorderly ?" 

"O don't preach, Mother!" said Dan. "Have you 
seen my speller ? Oh, dear ! I am going to be late 
again !" 

'Yes, I found it out on the back porch last night. 
The little shower we had has ruined the cover. Now 
are you ready for school ?" 

Without even a "thank you" or a "good-by" Dan 
caught up the book and rushed off, leaving his mother 



io8 DOIXG RIGHT 

with a look on her face that would have made him 
ashamed of himself, if he could have seen it. 

But that Monday morning had begun badly with 
Dan ; and not without reason. Sunday they had had 
one of his favorite dinners ; and he had eaten heartily 
and all too rapidly, and had taken no exercise after- 
ward. Then he had gone to bed late and forgotten 
to open the windows. The result was that he arose 
with sleepy eyes and a sullen mood that made the 
breakfast table an unhappy one ; and after he had 
pinched the baby, and drunk little Jack's orange juice, 
while that small member of the family was bringing in 
the paper, his father had told him to take his breakfast 
upstairs and eat it alone in his room. Instead of 
curing Dan, this made him all the sulkier, and he 
started off for the day's work with the disposition of an 
imp. 

By the time he reached the school the bell had 
stopped ringing, and Dan had to write his name again 
on the board in the tardy list. The clock's hands 
pointed to five minutes past nine ; but as the teacher 
was busy at the moment, he put himself down as only 
two minutes late. That would mean ten minutes 
after school instead of twenty-five. Unfortunately 
just as he started for his seat, Mr. Holmes turned. He 
looked at the board ; then he looked at the clock ; then 
he looked at Dan. 

"Dan," he called, "come here a moment. Why did 
you put down the time as two minutes past nine ?" 



DAN'S DREAM 109 

"Because it was two minutes past nine," replied 
Dan sulkily. 

"Think again, Dan," said Mr. Holmes quietly. 
"Are you sure ?" 

"Well, the school clock is fast," asserted Dan. "I 
left home in plenty of time to get here, and our clock 
is right by the noon whistles." 

The master looked hard at Dan for a moment. The 
lie had been told, and both knew it. But it was not 
the time for the most helpful punishment. Mr. 
Holmes recognized the boy's mood and was silent 
for a moment. "Dan," he said at last, "this is the 
clock we go by, and the clock is right." 

Dan went back to his seat, and picked up his speller. 
He was ashamed of himself, miserably unhappy, a little 
bit afraid, but still sullen. As he looked at the words, 
his mind wandered. He found himself glowering at 
the teacher, glowering at himself, glowering at every- 
body. Almost without thinking of what he was doing, 
he pulled out his knife, and began carving a big D on 
the desk. It was good fun, and he quite forgot himself 
until he looked up and saw the master standing beside 
him. 

"Whose desk is this, Dan ?" he asked. 

"Mine," replied Dan. 

"Is it ? How much did you pay for it ?" 

Dan was silent. 

"The next boy who sits here," Mr. Holmes went on, 
"will have to see that ugly carving. When he tries 



no DOING RIGHT 

to write on a sheet of paper, his pencil will sink down 
into the grooves that you have cut and make holes. 
Was it kind ? Was it fair ?" 

Dan thrust his hands into his pockets and said 
nothing. The master shut up the knife, slipped it into 
Dan's pocket, and passed on. Dan closed his speller 
with a snap, took out his arithmetic, and pretended 
to work. As the hour for the class approached, he 
found that only one example was finished. The lesson 
was in fractions. He had not paid very close attention 
when the teacher was explaining them, and now for 
some reason he found himself staring sleepily and 
stupidly at the page with no hope of getting those ten 
hard problems done. Just across the aisle Ben Wood 
was working on the last one, while the others were all 
neatly written out in plain sight. A moment later 
Dan's pencil was busy. He would cast a furtive look 
at Ben's paper and then write ; then look, and write 
again. Before long every example but the last had 
been transferred to Dan's paper, and he folded the 
sheet neatly and marched off to class. 

He had been called up at the last recitation, and 
hoped that to-day he might sit idly in his seat. But 
before the hour was half over, he heard his name read 
out among those who were to go to the blackboard 
and solve one of the problems in full view of the class. 
Poor Dan ! He stood on one foot, and then on the 
other ; made some figures with the chalk, and then 
rubbed them out. 



DAN'S DREAM m 

"What is the matter, Dan?" asked Mr. Holmes. 
"Surely you can solve that example. You have it 
right here on your paper." 

Dan felt his face burning. What could he say ? 
While the class was figuring, he saw Mr. Holmes 
suddenly pick up Ben Wood's paper and compare it 
with his own. The teacher's eye flashed as he saw 
something. But he only marked Dan's recitation 
zero, and sent him to his seat. 

II 

When school was over, the rest of the boys filed out, 
leaving Dan to pay the penalty of his tardiness. Mr. 
Holmes wrote busily at his desk for a few moments, and 
then came and sat down beside the culprit. 

"Dan," he began, "did you copy your examples this 
morning ?" 

"Who said I did ?" exclaimed Dan angrily. 

"No one," replied Mr. Holmes, "except it be your- 
self. I saw you looking over at Ben's desk before the 
recitation. It is strange that you could hand in a cor- 
rect solution on paper and then fail at the board. 
Strangest of all is the fact that your paper has exactly 
the same mistakes as Ben's, even the careless one of writ- 
ing a minus sign instead of the one for division. Now, 
Dan, this sort of thing cannot go on. You have been 
tardy and disorderly before. I have borne with your 
rudeness. It was bad enough to damage the school 



ii2 DOING RIGHT 

property this morning, something that is as unfair as 
it is dishonest. But when you steal the work of your 
schoolmates, and try to lie to them and to me, if not 
in word, then in deed, something will have to be done. 
Here is a letter that I want you to take to your father. 
You may as well deliver it, for I shall find out if you 
don't. I want to be one of your best friends, Dan ; 
but for some reason you will not let me. You some- 
times act as if I were your enemy. Do you realize 
who your only enemy is ? It's yourself. Now you 
may go." 

Dan slunk home by the back way. He had no heart 
to play, and dreaded to meet the fellows. If he had 
dared, he would have liked to burn the letter. But he 
knew that this would be worse than foolish, and so sat 
down at last back of the barn with the dreadful mes- 
sage in his hands. What a long, miserable day it had 
been ! And yet Dan had to admit that he was the one 
cause for it. Why had he been so mean to every- 
body ! Why had he done the things that he knew 
were shameful, and yielded to the promptings of that 
sullen mood ! 

As he came into the house, the baby, who remembered 
what he had done at the breakfast table, began to cry 
for fear he would pinch her. Billy and Dorothy had 
heard from the cook what Dan had said about his cap 
and the poodle, and told him what they thought of a 
fellow who charged his brother with his own careless- 
ness and threatened to whip an innocent little dog. 



DAN'S DREAM 



*%3 



His mother looked at him with anxious eyes at the 
supper table ; but as he said nothing, she waited for 
some sign of penitence. At last she went upstairs 
with the younger children, and Dan and his father were 
left alone. 

Dan tried to read, but could not. It seemed as if 
a millstone had been hung about his neck. When he 
tried to rise, he felt as if he were chained to his chair. 
How could he show his father that terrible letter ! At 
last he stood up. 

"Father," he said, "here is a letter that Mr. Holmes 
told me to give you." 

As his father read it, Dan saw his face grow sad and 
stern. The newspaper dropped from his lap, and the 
hand that held the letter trembled. 

" Dan," he said after a pause, "do you know what has 
happened ? You can't go to school for a while any 
more. You are suspended for being unfriendly to the 
school's best interests. Mr. Holmes writes that you 
are disorderly, discourteous, and dishonest. He has 
tried to help you ; but you would neither listen to him, 
nor mend your ways. Mother," he added, as his wife 
came into the room, "our boy has driven himself from 
school." 

"I, Father !" exclaimed Dan. "I didn't do it ! It is 
Mr. Holmes!" 

"No, Dan, it is yourself. It is your hand that shut 
the school door. It is your tongue that has spoken 
your own sentence. It is out of your own heart that 



ii 4 DOING RIGHT 

has come all of the day's unhappiness. From the way 
Dorothy and Billy and the baby acted, it looks as if 
you were trying to drive yourself out of your own 
home. Why do you do it, Dan ?" 

Dan sank down into a miserable little heap on the 
sofa. "I don't know, Father," he confessed shame- 
facedly. "I have been mean and hateful all day. 
I wish somebody would thrash me." 

"No one can punish you as hard as you punish your- 
self, my boy. Not a hand has been raised against you ; 
and yet you have been thrashing yourself all day. 
Haven't you ?" 

"Yes, I have," Dan admitted. "I have had an 
awful day, Father. I am ashamed of myself. In- 
deed, I was ashamed all the time." 

" So am I, Dan ; for I share your shame and your pun- 
ishment." 

"You, Father!" exclaimed Dan in astonishment. 
"Why, you have done nothing to be punished for !" 

"No," said his father. "But don't you see, my boy, 
that because we belong to each other, we have to share 
all experiences ? I bear your shame because I love you. 
Mr. Holmes will think of me as the father of a boy who 
is not a gentleman, who is not to be trusted with the 
school property, and who will even cheat and lie. 
That is as hard a punishment as can come to me, Dan ; 
and mother must bear her part of it, too." 



DAN'S DREAM 115 

III 

Dan buried his head in the sofa pillow. For some 
time there was silence in the room. At last Dan stood 
up. There was a new light in his eyes, and a look of 
determination on his face. 

"Father," he said, "do you suppose that Mr. Holmes 
would give me another chance ? I should like to make 
him see that you and mother are the finest people in 
the world, and prove to him that I can be a friend of the 
school." 

"I don't know, Dan," said his father. "I'm afraid 
not. But go to bed now, my boy. Perhaps to-mor- 
row I'll walk around that way, and ask Mr. Holmes 
whether you and I may have another trial." 

Dan lay awake a long time before sleep came. 
When it did, he had a dream. It seemed as if he were 
carried away on some magic carpet, like the little lame 
prince, to a beautiful country, full of everything that he 
most longed to possess. There were friends and fine 
sports and great heaps of money. But when he tried 
to greet his friends, a boy whose face he could not see 
rushed in and drove them from him. When Dan 
wanted to play, the mischief-maker broke up the game. 
When he reached down to fill his pockets with the 
gold coins, the other fellow snatched them away. At 
last Dan could stand it no longer, and ran after the 
rascal, who seemed bent upon spoiling his life. Up 
hill and down dale went the chase ; but at last Dan 



ii6 DOING RIGHT 

caught him by the shoulder and threw him to the 

ground. 

--^Now I've got you/' panted Dan, weary with his 

running even in his dream. "You are a coward and a 

robber, and I am going to punish you. But first let 

me see your face/' 

The figure buried his head deeper in his arms, and 
twisted and turned constantly. But at last Dan 
succeeded in pinning both arms to the ground and 
could look into the upturned features. But as he 
looked, he was filled first with wonder and then with 
fear. 
• "Who are you ?" he cried. "You look like — !" 

"Didn't you know me ?" the other face leered back 
at him. "There is only one person, who can spoil 
your life for you ; and that is — YOURSELF !" 

Dan awoke with a cry, sat up, rubbed his eyes, 
shivered as the cool night air blew over him, and then 
buried himself again in the warm clothes. For more 
than an hour he lay there thinking, while the stars 
blinked at him and the crickets chirped on the lawn. 
Then at last he fell asleep. 

The next morning Dan was a changed fellow ; and 

when his father told the story of his dream to his 

teacher, Mr. Holmes decided to give him another 

chance. 

— Henry Hallam Tweedy. 



KING DAVID'S CUP OF WATER 117 



He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty ; and he 
that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city. 

— Proverbs xvi. 32. 

Lie not one to another. 

— Colossians iii. 9. 

Thou shalt not steal. 

— Exodus xx. 15. 



1. What did Dan lose ? 

2. Whom did he blame ? 

3. What made him cross ? 

4. What things happened at school ? 

5. How was he punished ? 

6. What did his father say he would do ? 

7. Tell about Dan's dream. 

8. Who was really the cause of all Dan's trouble ? 



KING DAVID'S CUP OF WATER 

Have you ever seen a magnet ? The kind most of 
us know is shaped like a horseshoe ; and when we put 
it near other pieces of iron, it draws them to itself, 
and even makes them magnets, too. Small magnets 
will hold up a great many nails, while a very large 
magnet can lift the weight of a man. 

Now brave and good men are like magnets. They 
draw other men to them, and make them brave and 
good, too. We all love them and are glad to be with 
them and to serve them. It was because King Arthur 




n8 DOING RIGHT 

was brave and good that his knights of the Round Table 
fought for him and obeyed him and did the noble deeds 
which Arthur loved. 

When David was king in Israel, he had this same 
power over men. There was something about him 
that made heroes love him and serve him, and like to 
be with him. In his army there were thirty men who 
had done such great deeds that David chose them as 
his bodyguards, and made them his close friends. 
They could shoot an arrow or hurl a spear and hit the 
mark every time. Some of them had dared to fight a 
whole band of David's enemies, and had killed many 
and put the rest to flight. Mighty men of valor, the 
Bible calls them, and they loved their king and were 
true to him, because he was a mighty man of valor, 
too. 

One year, when the harvest was ripe, some of David's 
enemies marched into the fields near his old home, and 
made ready to steal the grain, which belonged to the 
people in Bethlehem. David and his men made up 
their minds to keep them from doing this, if they could ; 
and going down into the country, where the enemy was, 
they made their home in the cave in which David lived, 
when he was being hunted by Saul. 

The days were long and hot, and often David must 
have been very thirsty and tired. He longed, too, to 
save his old home and to drive the thieves out of the 
fields where he used to play as a boy. One day he 
thought of the old well by the gate in Bethlehem. It 



KING DAVID'S CUP OF WATER 



119 



seemed as if no water could be quite as cool and fresh 
as that water. Besides, home is very dear, and it 
grows dearer as we grow older ; and men are apt to 
think that no food is quite so good and no water quite 
so clear as that which they had when they were boys. 
So David looked at the fields, filled with his enemies, 
that lay between his cave and Bethlehem, and wished 
out loud. "O," he said, "that one would give me 
water to drink of the well of Bethlehem, which is by 
the gate!" 

Like many of our wishes he never thought of having 
it come true. But three of his mighty men heard the 
words of the king ; and when night came on, they 
girded on their swords, crept out of the cave, and at 
the risk of their lives made their way right past the 
enemy to the well. There they filled their pitchers 
with the cool water, and stole back past the sleeping 
enemies to their friends. 

When David saw the water, and knew that his three 
mighty men had risked their lives to bring it to him, 
how he must have loved them ! That water was more 
precious now than its weight in gold, because it meant 
the love and service of his friends. It seemed to David 
that the water was too sacred to drink. It would 
have been like drinking the lives of his three knights. 
So he held it up in his hands and prayed, saying : "Be 
it far from me, O God, that I should drink this ! Shall 
I drink the blood of the men that went in danger of 
their lives ?" Then he poured it out upon the thirsty 



120 



DOING RIGHT 




So He Held It Up in His Hands and Prayed. 



HOW ONE MAN LOVED HIS CITY 121 

ground, trying in this way to give it as a sacred gift 
to God. 

What became of the three mighty men of valor, we 
do not know. But we love to tell their story, because 
they were great enough to do a hard thing, which their 
king wished but did not ask, with courage and cheer. 
Perhaps it may draw us to them, like magnets, and 
make us like them in our service of the Great King. 

— Henry Hallam Tweedy. 



For God gave us not a spirit of fearfulness ; but of power and 
love and discipline. 

— II Timothy i. 7. 



1. Why did King David's soldiers love him ? 

2. Tell about his chosen guard. 

3. Where did they go to live ? 

4. Why did they do this ? 

5. What did David long for ? 

6. How did his men show their love for him ? 

7. What did David do with the water ? 



HOW ONE MAN LOVED HIS CITY 

I 

About four hundred and fifty years before Jesus was 
born, there lived in the palace of the king of Persia 
a young Jew, whose name was Nehemiah. He seemed 



122 DOING RIGHT 

to have everything to make him happy. He had 
clothes of silk, and plenty of food, and could enjoy the 
fine things in the palace. Moreover, the king loved 
him and trusted him, so much so that he made Nehe- 
miah his cupbearer. This meant a great deal in those 
days. For when wicked men wished to kill the king, 
they used to try to put poison in his cup. Only a true 
friend might fill and bring it ; and he would taste it 
before he gave it to the king to show that the king 
need not be afraid. 

But with all this Nehemiah was not happy. For 
he was far from the city where his fathers had lived 
and now were buried. He had friends there, whom he 
longed to see ; and he was eager to make his home in 
the land of his people, and to serve it, and make it 
beautiful, and protect it against its foes. 

One day his brother came to him with some men from 
Jerusalem, who brought bad news. They told him 
that his friends were poor, and that they were having 
a great deal of sorrow and trouble. As for the city, 
which he loved, its great wall, built to guard it from its 
enemies, was broken down ; while the great gates, 
through which people might enter by day but which 
were closed to keep out foes and robbers at night, had 
been burned. 

When Nehemiah heard this, he was very sad. He 
knew that wild animals could creep in and prowl 
around its streets at night. Worse yet, wild men 
could steal in under the cover of darkness, and rob 



HOW ONE MAN LOVED HIS CITY 123 

his friends, and even kill them. Perhaps some cruel 
king would march against it with his soldiers, and burn 
all the homes and make the people his slaves. No 
wonder that Nehemiah was unhappy. He felt so 
bad that he sat down and cried ; and for days and 
days he could not even bear to eat. 

But there was no use in crying. He knew that. 
And to go without food would only make him weak 
and unable to work, while it would not build the walls 
of his city or bring aid to his friends. So he made up 
his mind to do something ; and the first thing that he 
did was to ask God to help him and to guide him, so 
that he might go back home and serve his city and his 
friends. Then he arose, and made himself ready to 
act as cupbearer, and went in to wait on the king. 

The king saw at once that his cupbearer's heart was 
full of sorrow. "Why are you sad," he asked, "inas- 
much as you are not sick ?" 

At first Nehemiah was almost afraid to tell him ; 
for while he knew that his city needed him, he feared 
that the king would not let him go. But at last he 
plucked up courage, and with a prayer in his heart that 
God would cause the king to be gracious, he made 
answer. "Why should I not be sad," he said, "when 
the city, where my fathers are buried, lies waste, and its 
walls are broken down, and its gates are burned ?" 

Then the king was sorry for him, and said : "What 
can I do for you ? Come, tell me !" 

Nehemiah bowed himself before the king, and said : 



i2 4 DOIXG RIGHT 

"If I have pleased you and you really love me, send me 
to Jerusalem, that I mav build its walls." 

To his great joy, the king said that he might go. 
He even sent soldiers with him to guard him and help 
him. He also gave Xehemiah letters to his servants. 
who ruled for him in the land lying between Persia and 
Judah, bidding these men to give him wood with which 
to make the gates. So Xehemiah started out on his 
long journey, and at last found himself safe in Jerusalem 
among his friends. 

It seemed wise not to tell them why he had come 
until he knew just what needed to be done. So one 
night Xehemiah and a few of his men walked around 
the city and looked at the walls. He soon saw that 
these were badly broken and quite useless, as the men 
had told him. Before the people were awake, he and 
his friends were back in their home. 



II 

The next morning, he called the people together and 
said: "Come, and let us build the walls of our city! 
The king, my master, says that we may do so. God 
will help us : and if we love Him and obey Him, He 
will give us strength to drive away our foes." 

Now the wall was a very, very long one, and it had to 
be very thick and very high. It seemed as if they never 
would be able to finish it : and they could not have 
done so, if thev had not all worked, and worked hard. 



HOW ONE MAN LOVED HIS CITY 125 




Underwood and Underwood. 



Walls and Towers of Jerusalem. 




126 DOING RIGHT 

There were doubtless some lazy men, who did not 
want to work ; and some cowards who were afraid that 
foes would come and hurt them while they were at 
work ; and some greedy, selfish men, who did not love 
their city very much, and said that unless Nehemiah 
paid them money they would not work. But Nehe- 
miah made the lazy men ashamed of themselves, and 
cheered those who were afraid, and told the selfish 
ones that if they did not work, their foes and robbers 
would come and take away the money that they had 
already. 

Most of the people worked with a will gladly, and 
began at once to build next to their own homes. 
Some said that they would build one gate, and some 
another. Even some of the women worked on the 
walls, while the mothers did their share by cooking 
the food and mending the clothes and keeping the 
homes sweet and clean for their husbands when they 
came back tired at night. The boys and girls were 
busy, too. Everybody worked and sang and pounded 
and shouted as the great stones were put into place. 
It was very hard labor. Their hands were bruised and 
torn, and their arms ached, and their backs were 
weary. But they loved their city dearly ; and when 
people work for somebody or something that they 
love, the hardest toil is done gladly and often seems 
light. 

Round about in the country were men who hated 
Nehemiah and his people. They did not want to have 



HOW ONE MAN LOVED HIS CITY 127 

the walls built ; for then it would be harder to take the 
city, and they could not break into it and make the 
people slaves. Some of them used to stand near the 
men while they were at work, and laugh at them. 
"You can never build such great walls," they cried. 
"What is the use of trying!" When the people kept 
right on, they sent word, saying that if the work was 
not stopped, they would come and fight. But Nehe- 
miah told the people not to be afraid. "Trust God," 
he said, "and work with your trowel in one hand and 
your sword in the other." 

Every day saw fewer holes in the walls of the city. 
One by one the big gates were made and swung into 
place. At last the great work was done, and Nehemiah 
and his friends were as happy as they were weary. 
No robbers could creep into their homes now. There 
would be no more wild beasts prowling around their 
streets at night. As for the men who had jeered at 
them and tried to stop the work, the workers could 
laugh at them now. The people had loved their city 
enough to labor for it, and to suffer hardship, and 
endure danger. But as" the result of that work, it 
was now a strong fort, and their lives and their homes 
were safe once more. And the men and women and 
boys and girls who had helped Nehemiah were happy 
and loved the city better and were prouder of it because 
each had worked and done a full share in building the 
great wall. 

Nehemiah did many other things to make his city 



128 DOING RIGHT 

better and more beautiful, and all men loved him and 

honored him, because he had served his country so 

well. 

— Henry Hallam Tweedy. 



For Zion's sake will I not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem's 
sake I will not rest, until her righteousness go forth as 
brightness, and her salvation as a lamp that burneth. 

— Isaiah Ixii. i. 



1. Whom did the king have for his cupbearer ? 

2. What does the cupbearer have to do ? 

3. Why was Nehemiah unhappy ? 

4. What news did his brother bring ? 

5. How did the king help Nehemiah ? 

6. Tell how Nehemiah and his people built the walls. 

7. Why did Nehemiah want to do this work ? 



TWO PRAYERS 

<c O Lord, cast out from us every evil thought, 
every base desire, all envy and pride, all wrath and 
anger, and everything that is contrary to thy holy 
will." Amen. 



" O Lord, our heavenly Father, send forth, we pray 
Thee, thy light into our hearts, that we may see the 
brightness of thy commandments ; and walking in thy 
way, may fall into no error." Amen. 



FATHER IN HEAVEN, WE THANK THEE 129 





FATHER IN HEAVEN, WE THANK 
THEE 

For flowers that bloom about our feet, 
For tender grass so fresh, so sweet, 
For song of bird and hum of bee, 
For all things fair we hear or see, 
For blue of stream and blue of sky, 
For pleasant shade of branches high, 
For fragrant air and cooling breeze, 
For beauty of the blooming trees, 



For mother-love and father-care, 
For brothers strong and sisters fair, 
For love at home and here each day, 
For guidance lest we go astray, 
For this new morning with its light, 
For rest and shelter of the night, 
For health and food, for love and friends, 
For ev'ry thing thy goodness sends, 
Father in heaven, we thank thee. 

— Selected. 






_-_ 



^= 




i 3 o THE WAY OF THE RIVERS 



O give thanks unto the Lord ; for he is good ; 
For his lovingkindness endureth forever. 

— Psalm cxxxvi. i . 



MARTIN LUTHER'S LETTER TO HIS SON 

You have all heard of Martin Luther, a great and 
good man who lived in Germany a long time ago. 
He was very loving to children ; and once, when he was 
away from home, he wrote a letter to his little son. 
It was dated 1530; so you see it is more than three 
hundred years old. In those days they had not begun 
to print any books for children ; therefore, the boy was 
doubly delighted to have something in writing that 
his friends could read to him. This is what Martin 
Luther wrote to his son Hansigen, which in English 
means Little John. He was describing a boy's heaven. 
Any boy might be happy to receive such a letter. 
Listen to it now, and see if you don't think so. 

" To my little son, Hansigen Luther, grace and peace in 

Christ 

"My Heart-dear Little Son: I hear that you 
learn well and pray diligently. Continue to do so, my 
son. When I come home I will bring you a fine present 
from the fair. I know of a lovely garden, full of joyful 
children, who wear little golden coats, and pick up 



MARTIN LUTHER'S LETTER TO HIS SON 131 




Underwood and Underwood. 

Martin Luther's Home, Where He Translated the Bible. 



132 DOING RIGHT 

beautiful apples, and pears, and cherries, and plums 
under the trees. They sing, and jump, and make 
merry. They have also beautiful little horses with 
golden saddles and silver bridles. I asked the man 
that kept the garden who the children were. And he 
said to me, 'The children are those who love to learn, 
and to pray, and to be good.' Then said I, 'Dear sir, 
I have a little son, named Hansigen Luther. May he 
come into this garden, and have the same beautiful 
apples and pears to eat, and wonderful little horses to 
ride upon, and may he play about with these children ?' 
Then said he, 'If he is willing to learn, and to pray, and 
to be good, he shall come into this garden ; and Lippus 
and Justus too. If they all come together, they shall 
have pipes, and little drums, and lutes, and music 
of stringed instruments. And they shall dance, and 
shoot with little crossbows.' Then he showed me a 
fine meadow in the garden, all laid out for dancing. 
There hung golden pipes and kettle-drums and fine 
silver crossbows ; but it was too early to see the 
dancing, for the children had not had their dinner. I 
said, 'Ah, dear sir, I will instantly go and write to my 
little son Hansigen, so that he may study, and pray, 
and be good, and thus come into this garden. And he 
has a little cousin Lena, whom he must also bring with 
him/ Then he said to me : 'So shall it be. Go home, 
and write to him.' 

"Therefore, dear little son Hansigen, be diligent to 
learn and to pray ; and tell Lippus and Justus to do so, 



WE ARE SEVEN 



i33 



too, that you may all meet together in that beauti- 
ful garden. Give cousin Lena a kiss from me. Here- 
with I recommend you all to the care of Almighty 

God." 

— L. Maria Child. Abridged. 



And 


the streets of 


the 


city shall be full of boys 
playing. 

— Zechariah 


and 
viii. 


girls 
5- 



What did Martin Luther write to his son ? 
Why was the boy happy over the letter ? 
What did the father describe in the letter ? 
What did he say about the garden ? 
Whom did he say might go to this garden ? 



WE ARE SEVEN 

— A simple Child, 
That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 
What should it know of death ? 

I met a little cottage Girl : 
She was eight years old, she said ; 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 
That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodland air, 
And she was wildly clad : 



134 DOING RIGHT 

Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; 
— Her beauty made me glad. 

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid, 
How many may you be ?" 
"How many ? Seven in all," she said, 
And wondering looked at me. 

"And where are they ? I pray you tell. 
She answered, "Seven are we ; 
And two of us at Conway dwell, 
And two are gone to sea. 

"Two of us in the churchyard lie, 
My sister and my brother ; 
And, in the church-yard cottage, I 
Dwell near them with my mother." 

"You say that two at Conway dwell, 
And two are gone to sea, 
Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell, 
Sweet Maid, how this may be." 

Then did the little Maid reply, 
"Seven boys and girls are we ; 
Two of us in the church-yard lie, 
Beneath the church-yard tree." 

"You run about, my little Maid, 
Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the church-yard laid, 
Then ye are only five." 



WE ARE SEVEN 135 

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," 
The little Maid replied, 

"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, 
And they are side by side. 

"My stockings there I often knit, 
My kerchief there I hem ; 
And there upon the ground I sit, 
And sing a song to them. 

"And often after sunset, Sir, 
When it is light and fair, 
I take my little porringer, 
And eat my supper there. 

"The first that died was sister Jane ; 
In bed she moaning lay, 
Till God released her of her pain ; 
And then she went away. 

" So in the church-yard she was laid ; 
And, when the grass was dry, 
Together round her grave we played, 
My brother John and I. 

"And when the ground was white with snow, 

And I could run and slide, 

My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side." 

"How many are you, then," said I, 
"If they two are in heaven ?" 



136 DOING RIGHT 

Quick was the little Maid's reply, 
"O Master ! we are seven." 

"But they are dead ; those two are dead ! 
Their spirits are in heaven !" 
5 Twas throwing words away ; for still 
The little Maid would have her will, 
And said, "Nay, we are seven !" 

— William Wordsworth. 



And all were weeping, and bewailing her: but he said, 
weep not ; for she is not dead, but sleepeth. 

— Luke viii. 52. 



1. What question was asked the little girl ? 

2. What was her answer ? 

3. Where were her brothers and sisters ? 

4. What did she say when told that they were dead ? 



A SONG UNTO THE LORD 

Oh come, let us sing unto the Lord : 

Let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation. 

Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving ; 

Let us make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. 

For the Lord is a great God, 

And a great king above all gods. 

In his hand are the deep places of the earth ; 



A SONG UNTO THE LORD 137 

The heights of the mountains are his also. 

The sea is his, and he made it ; 

And his hands formed the dry land. 

Oh, come, let us worship and bow down ; 

Let us kneel before Jehovah our Maker : 

For he is our God, 

And we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of 

his hand. 

— Psalm xcv. 

Commit to memory the above Psalm. 



A PRAYER 

Our heavenly Father, grant us to be children of the 
light, and of the day ; vouchsafe to keep us without 
sin. Let us hear thy loving-kindness in the morning, 
for in Thee is our trust. Show us the way in which we 
should walk, for we lift up our souls unto Thee. Teach 
us to do the things that please Thee, for Thou art the 
Lord our God, and let thy good Spirit lead us into the 
land of uprightness, through Jesus Christ our Lord. 
Amen, 



PART IV 



THE MAN AT THE HELM 

It was night. All was still on board the ship, except 
for the noise of the engines at work as they sent the 
vessel through the waves. 

All had gone below to their berths to go to sleep, 
except a few hands to work the ship. 

Far behind them lay the coast which they had left, 
with its wall of rocks and cliff. The little harbor 
from which they had come was a long way off now. 

By and by the man at the helm, who guides the ship 
on her way, thought there was a smell of fire. 

He left his post, and went to ask some of the crew if 
they could smell it as well as himself. This was the 
case, they said. So a quiet search was made above 
and below to find out the cause of the smell of fire. 

They could not find out where the smell came from. 
But they could see that smoke was coming up from 
below. 

So they gave the cry — " Fire ! Fire ! the ship is 
on fire!" 

In a very short time all came on the deck. Some 
were only half dressed, with pale faces and wide-open 
eyes, and hearts that beat and beat like the engine below. 

141 



142 DOING RIGHT 1 

The stars looked down upon the white faces all 
crowded in a heap. The people thought they would 
be more safe thus crowded close together. 

There were two or three mothers there, with babes 
in their arms pressed tight to their hearts. One held 
her babe up in her arms, as if to God, to ask Him to 
take it out of the great danger. 

The ship was soon turned round to make for the 
harbor from which she had come. All the people 
on board of her went to the bow, except the man at the 
helm. He had to guide the vessel by means of the 
wheel at the stern. 

By this time the smoke was rising fast from the hold. 
Though the crew kept to the pumps, and sent tons of 
water into the hold, it did not seem to stop the fire a 
bit. 

The ship flew along the waves. But each moment 
seemed an hour to those on board. And the tall, high, 
rocky cliffs were yet afar off in the night. 

Still the brave fellow at the helm kept to his post. 
The smoke was driven by the wind, as the ship cut 
through the waves, so that it hid him from sight. 

At last the beach was seen by the side of the 
harbor. 

The men in the town had seen through the night 
that the ship was. on fire. They had come down to the 
beach with lights. This was to let the brave man at 
the helm know where to drive the ship on to the beach 
to save the dear souls on board. 




Still the Brave Fellow at the Helm Kept to His Post." 



144 



DOING RIGHT 



He was a brave man indeed ! for this is a true story. 
But the heat was now awful to bear. The fire was 
burning below, and the decks were so hot that the man 
could hardly stand at his post. 

He called out for water, and the brave crew kept 
throwing water over him. This was done to cool the 
decks, and to keep him from the flames, which were 
now rising all over the ship. 

Oh ! how the eyes of those on board looked at the 
shore. And how all prayed that the man at the helm 
might be able to keep his post. Then they would all 
be safe and sound on dry land once more. 

But the heat by this time had become so great at 
the helm that the man's hair was singed with it. His 
greatcoat was dropping off him, cracked and dried, 
as he still clung like a hero to his post. 

His very blood seemed to be on fire in his veins. 
His throat was so dry and parched that he could no 
longer even cry out to God for help. The deck below 
seemed to be getting red-hot with the fire beneath it. 

But see ! the ship is drawing nearer and nearer to 
the shore ! The beach is lined with those who will 
plunge in and swim out to her to help her, if she cannot 
reach the strand. One or two more moments, if the 
brave man can last a little longer, a few more turns of 
the wheel, and she will be safe. 

Now ! now ! he has turned the ship's head round so 
as to keep smoke and flames off him ! At last the ship 
touches the beach, and all on board it are safe. 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 145 

But how fares that brave man ? His hair is gray ! 
What he has gone through in the last hour has done 
the work of years. But God will not forget his work 
and labor of love. 

— Selected. 



Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his 
life for his friends. 

— John xv. 13. 



1. What did the man at the helm think ? 

2. What did he find ? 

3. What did the passengers do ? 

4. Tell how this brave man saved the people. 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 

I. THE MEANING OF THE KING'S DREAM 

When the king of Babylon took many of the Jews 
away from their own land as prisoners, there were four 
youths of the Jewish royal family of whom special 
care was taken. The king of Babylon wanted some 
of the captives brought up to be his pages, to attend 
on- him in his palace. Eastern kings at this time liked 
to have everybody about them bright and cheerful and 
pleasant to look at. Indeed, if a person looked sad in 
the king's presence, the king might be so angry as to 
have him killed. 



146 DOING RIGHT 

So the best-looking and cleverest of the captives 
were selected to be carefully trained and made fit 
to wait on the king. They were chosen by one of the 
king's officers, and for three years they were to be fed 
from the king's table, that they might grow up strong, 
handsome men. 

Now the Jews had strict rules about the kinds of 
food that they might eat. Some kinds that other 
nations ate were forbidden to the Jews. We are not 
told what kind of food the king of Babylon wished 
Daniel and his friends to eat, but they thought it 
wrong to eat it ; and this they told Melzar, the officer 
who had charge of them. 

Now Melzar had grown very fond indeed of Daniel, 
and did not wish to force him to eat what the king 
had provided. 

But he said : "If you do not eat it, you will not look 
so well as the others when the three years have gone ; 
and the king will blame me, and he will perhaps order 
my head to be cut off." 

So Daniel asked him to let them have plainer and 
more wholesome food for ten days. Melzar agreed to 
this ; and as at the end of ten days Daniel and his 
companions looked better than the others, Melzar 
said that they might eat plain food during the three 
years. 

Meanwhile they were carefully taught all that they 
would need to know, and showed themselves to be 
clever and attentive pupils, so that they made good 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 147 

progress. Daniel especially became noted as one who 
could tell the meaning of dreams and visions, for people 
thought that God spoke through these. 

When the three years were ended, Melzar brought 
all the chosen captives to the king. But there were 
none among them who could compare in appearance 
and cleverness with the four princes, so these were 
chosen to attend on the king in his palace. 

There were several wise men whom the king used 
to consult when he was in any difficulty, or wanted 
anything explained. After the Jewish princes were 
taken into the palace, the king used to consult them, 
too, and said he found them ten times better than his 
other wise men. 

Some time after this the king had a dream, a very 
remarkable dream, and he was very anxious to know 
its meaning. So he had his wise men called (though 
Daniel and his friends do not seem to have been pres- 
ent), and said, "I have dreamed a dream, and I am 
troubled because I do not know what it means." 

"O king, live for ever!" replied the wise men. (It 
was considered the proper way to speak to the king 
to begin by saying, "0 king, live for ever!") "Tell 
thy servants the dream, and we will show its meaning." 

But alas ! the king had forgotten the dream itself, 
and could not tell them anything about it. But what 
he did tell them was something which they were not 
at all likely to forget. He said that if they could not 
tell him his dream and its meaning, they should be 



148 DOING RIGHT 

cut to pieces ; but that if they could tell him, they 
should receive great rewards and honor. 

The poor wise men were in a great difficulty. How 
could they tell the king what he had dreamed ? They 
could only say again, that if the king would tell them 
his dream, they would tell him its meaning. 

But the king was very angry. He said that they 
were only trying to gain time, and that they either 
could not or would not tell him his dream. 

"There is not a man on the earth," they replied, 
"who could tell the king his dream, and no king has 
ever before required such a thing. Only the gods 
could do it." These men did not know about the true 
God whom the Jews worshiped. 

Then the king was more angry than before, and 
commanded his soldiers to kill all the wise men. This 
was a very cruel and a very foolish order, because the 
wise men could not possibly tell him what they did not 
know. But the king was too angry to think of that. 
He wanted them all killed, and that quickly. 

Now Daniel and his friends were reckoned among 
the king's wise men ; so the soldiers came to look for 
them to kill them. Then Daniel asked the captain 
of the soldiers, "Why is the king in such a hurry to 
have the wise men killed ?" The captain told him 
how the king had required the wise men to tell him his 
dream, and none of them had been able to do so. 

Then Daniel went to the king and told him that if 
he would give them more time, they would tell him 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 149 




Then Daniel Told the King What the Dream Had Been, 
anp What It Meant." 



150 DOIXG RIGHT 

what he wanted to know. And the king, who very 
much desired to know what he had dreamed and what 
it meant, agreed to do so. 

So Daniel said to his three friends, "Let us pray to 
God to show us the king's dream and its meaning, so 
that we and all the wise men may not be killed." 

The four friends prayed, and we may be sure that 
they prayed very earnestly. Then in a dream God 
showed Daniel both what the king had dreamt, and 
what the dream meant. 

When Daniel awoke, the first thing he did was to 
thank and praise God for answering his prayer. Then 
Daniel told the king what the dream had been, and 
what it meant. 

The king had dreamed that he saw a great image. 
But a strange thing about this image was the fact that 
different parts of it were made of different materials. 
The head was of gold, the upper part of the body and 
the arms were of silver, the lower part of brass, the legs 
of iron, and the feet partly iron and partly clay. Then 
a great stone, which had not been cut out of the quarry 
by human workmen, struck this great image, and 
broke it all to pieces : and the stone grew till it became 
a great mountain, and filled the whole earth. 

Daniel saw that the king's dream meant that his 
great kingdom was going to be broken up. He him- 
self was like the golden head, but those who came 
after him would be less powerful, just as the other 
pans of the image became less valuable. At last the 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 151 

kingdom would be utterly destroyed, and a new king- 
dom should arise and spread through all the world. 



For the Lord giveth wisdom ; 

Out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding. 

— Proverbs ii. 6. 



1. What was Daniel chosen to be ? 

2. For what was he noted ? 

3. Tell about the king's forgotten dream. 

4. Who finally told what the dream had been ? 

5. Who had helped Daniel do this ? 



II. THE FIERY FURNACE 

Daniel did not forget the friends who had prayed 
to God to make known the dream. He spoke to the 
king about them, and Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed- 
nego were made rulers under Daniel. 

For many years things went on quietly. Daniel 
and his friends did their work well, and the king grew 
more and more powerful. 

But the king seems to have forgotten about God ; 
for he set up a great golden image (perhaps an image 
of himself, or of his chief god) on a plain, and sent for 
all the chief men to come and hear why he had set it up. 

When they were all gathered together, the king's her- 
ald proclaimed with a loud voice that at certain times 
a band of music would play, and that when this was 



1 52 DOING RIGHT 

heard every one must fall down and worship the image. 
If any one refused to do so, he should be burnt to 
death in a very hot furnace. 

The people of the country did not mind worshiping 
the image. Many idols were worshiped, and one 
more would not matter very much. Besides, they 
did not want to offend the king and be burnt to death. 
So whenever the music of the band was heard, every 
one fell down and worshiped the image. 

We are not told where Daniel was at this time. 
Perhaps he had been sent by the king into another 
part of the country. We may be quite certain that 
he would never have worshiped the image. Neither 
would his three friends worship it. So when the sound 
of the music was heard, and all the people fell down 
and worshiped the image, these three alone stood up- 
right and refused to worship. 

Then some of the people thought this would be a 
good chance to get rid of these Jewish princes, who had 
been given such high positions in the land. 

So these jealous men went to the king and said. 
" Those Jews whom you have made rulers do not mind 
what you say. They do not serve your gods, and they 
will not worship the image which you have set up." 

Then the king, in his rage and fury, commanded them 
to bring Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego before 
him. When they came, he asked them whether it were 
true that they had refused to worship the image. "If, 
\vhen you hear the music," he said, "you fall down and 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 153 

worship, all will be well ; but if not, you shall be cast 
at once into a burning fiery furnace ! And who is the 
God that shall deliver you out of my hands ?" 

But the three friends were not frightened. Those 
who are on God's side need never be afraid. They 
said that they were in no doubt as to what to answer. 
They would not worship the image. God was able 
to save them from the king, and from the furnace, if 
He thought fit. But even if He did not, they cer- 
tainly would not worship the image. 

Then the king was in a greater rage than before. He 
had liked and trusted these three friends, and had put 
them into important positions, but now he hated them. 
He commanded his servants to make the furnace 
seven times hotter than it was before, and to bind 
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and throw them 
into the furnace as soon as it was ready. 

So the king's strongest men took the three friends, 
bound them up in their long, flowing robes and turbans, 
so that they could not move, and threw them into the 
furnace. But the heat was so great that these strong 
men died because of it. Then the three captives fell 
down in the midst of the fire, and everybody expected 
that they would be burnt to cinders in an instant. 

The king was watching his servants do as he told 
them, and felt a savage kind of joy when he saw the 
men who had dared to disobey him thrown into the 
fire. But suddenly he rose from his seat and, in a 
tone of great surprise said : 



154 



DOING RIGHT 




"Lo, I See Four Men Loose Walking in the Midst of the Fire, 
and They Have Xo Hurt." 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 155 

"Did we not cast three men bound into the midst 
of the fire?" 

And his attendants answered, "True, O king." 

Then he said, "Lo, I see four men loose walking in 
the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt ; and the 
form of the fourth is like a son of the gods." 

Then the king himself came near the furnace, and 
called to the three friends to come out. And as they 
came out, all could see that they were not burnt, nor 
their clothes even singed. 

Now the king saw that he had made a mistake. He 
blessed God, who had delivered His faithful servants, 
and said that any who should speak against the 
true God should be killed, and their houses destroyed. 
For the king knew that none of the gods whom he 
worshiped could have done such a thing. 

Then he gave Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego 
still greater honor and riches. 



Fear not, for I have redeemed thee ; I have called thee by 
thy name, thou art mine. . . . When thou walkest 
through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither shall 
the flame kindle upon thee. 

— Isaiah xliii. 1-2. 



1. What did the king set up ? 

2. What rule did he make ? 

3. Who refused to worship the image ? 

4. What was done with them ? 

5. Whom did the men say saved them from the fire ? 



156 DOING RIGHT 

III. THE WRITING ON THE WALL 

The Bible does not tell us any more about this 
king ; but it goes on to tell us something about another 
king, his son, or his grandson, who became king after 
him, and whose name was Belshazzar. 

When the king of Babylon had brought away Daniel 
and his companions from their own land as captives, 
he had at the same time brought many precious things. 
Among them were some golden vessels which had 
been used in the service of God in the temple, and 
which were therefore sacred. 

One night Belshazzar, and many of his chief men 
and their wives, were having a great feast in his palace. 
As they were drinking wine, Belshazzar thought of 
these golden vessels which had been taken from 
God's temple, and ordered them to be brought, that 
he and his friends might drink out of them as if they 
were ordinary cups and bowls. 

But as the king drank a wonderful thing happened. 
The fingers of a man's hand appeared, writing on the 
plaster of the wall. No man could be seen, only 
these ghostly fingers, writing strange words, the mean- 
ing of which no one knew. 

There sat the king and his gay companions, and 
there on the wall were these awful, puzzling words. 
What could they mean ? 

The queen remembered that in days past Daniel 
had been able to tell the meaning of dreams when 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 



iS7 




Daniel Told the King That He . 

Words.' 



Dore. 

Would Explain the Awful 



i 5 8 DOING RIGHT 

the wise men could not ; so she advised Belshazzar to 
have Daniel brought to him. 

The king did so, and offered Daniel the same rewards 
that he had offered to the wise men, if he would tell him 
the meaning of the writing on the wall. 

Daniel, however, told the king that he did not want 
the rewards, though he would explain the awful words. 
Then he went on to remind Belshazzar how that when 
his ancestor, Nebuchadnezzar, was alive, he had been 
lifted up with pride, and how God had taken away his 
reason and made him live like a beast of the field to 
teach him to be humble. Belshazzar had known all 
this, and yet he had not humbled himself before the 
true God, but had dared to use His sacred vessels as 
if they were common ones. Even while drinking out of 
them he had praised the false gods whom he worshiped. 

Then it was that God had sent this part of a hand 
to write on the wall ; and the meaning of the words 
was that the king had been, as it were, weighed in a 
pair of scales, and found not what he ought to be. He 
had had a chance to be a good king, serving the true 
God, but instead he had been a bad king, serving idols. 
So God was going to take away his kingdom, and give 
it to two nations, the Medes and the Persians, who had 
long been trying to get it. 

Although Belshazzar must have been very sad on 
hearing this, he gave Daniel the rewards which he 
had promised. But that very night he was killed, and 
Darius the Median became king. 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 159 



For every one that exalteth himself shall be humbled ; and 
he that humbleth himself shall be exalted. 

— Luke xiv. 11. 



1. How did Belshazzar treat the sacred vessels ? 

2. What took place at his feast ? 

3. Who told what this meant ? 

4. How was Belshazzar punished ? 



IV. THE LION'S DEN 



Darius had heard about Daniel ; so he made him 
the chief man in the kingdom after himself. This of 
course made many others jealous, and these tried to 
get Daniel into trouble. But they could find nothing 
to say against him, for Daniel served both God and 
the king as well as he could, and his work was always 
well done. So Daniel's enemies thought they would 
lay a trap for him. 

These crafty men went to king Darius and asked 
him to make a law that no one should ask anything 
of either God or man for thirty days. If any one 
disobeyed the law, he was to be thrown into the den 
of lions. 

Darius did not know what crafty plan these men 
had in their minds, and did as they asked. And when 
once the law had been made, it must be carried out. 

"Now," these men thought, "we shall get rid of 
Daniel." But Daniel went on saying his prayers 







< 

Q 

w 

K 
- 



THE STORY OF DANIEL 161 

three times a day — in the morning, at midday, and 
in the evening. His enemies knew at what time he 
said them, so they came and found him praying just 
as they had expected. 

Off they hurried to the king. "Did you not say," 
they asked him, "that any one who made any prayer 
to God or man for thirty days should be thrown into 
the den of lions ?" 

"Yes," the king answered, "that is quite true, and 
the law cannot be altered." 

"Well, then," said they, "Daniel does not take any 
notice of you or your law. He prays three times a 
day, just as he did before." 

Then the king saw what a trap they had laid, and 
was very angry with himself for having been so foolish 
as to make the law. He even pleaded all day with these 
men that the law might be set aside, so that Daniel 
might not be hurt. But they replied that, the law having 
been made, not even the king himself could set it aside. 

Then the king commanded that Daniel should be 
cast into the den of lions. But before Daniel was put 
in, the king tried to comfort him. Darius may have 
heard how God had saved Daniel's friends from the 
fiery furnace, for he said to Daniel, "Your God, whom 
you always serve, will deliver you." 

Then Daniel was put into the lions' den, and the 
king went to his house very sorrowful. 

Very early in the morning he hurried to the lions' 
den. "Daniel," he cried, "can your God save you ?" 



1 62 DOING RIGHT 

How anxiously he must have waited to hear if there 
would be any reply ! And how glad he must have 
been when he heard the calm words : 

"O king, live for ever! My God hath sent His 
angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have 
not hurt me." 

The king was delighted, and ordered Daniel to 
be taken up at once out of the den. 

But he punished the men by putting them into the 
lions' den, and the lions ate them. 

After this Daniel himself had visions, something 
like those which St. John had hundreds of years later, 
about which we read in the Book of Revelation. We 
cannot yet understand the whole meaning of the visions 
that Daniel saw. It is enough to know that God never 
forsakes those who trust in Him, and that it is better to 
do right and please God than to do wrong to please men. 

— Selected. 



The angel of the Lord 


encampeth 


round about them that 


fear him, 






And delivereth them. 




— Psalm xxxiv. 7. 



1 . Who became king ? 

2. What did Daniel's enemies do ? 

3. What order did the king give ? 

4. What did he tell Daniel ? 

5. Who saved Daniel from the lio'ns ? 



LITTLE JACK 



LITTLE JACK 



A CHRISTMAS STORY 



I 

Once upon a time, so long ago that everybody has 
forgotten the date, there was a little boy whose name 
was Jack. He lived with his aunt in a tall old house 
in a city, whose name is so hard to pronounce that 
nobody can speak it. He was seven years old, and 
he could not remember that he had ever seen his father 
or his mother. 

The old aunt who had the care of little Jack was 
very poor. She could give him nothing but dry bread 
to eat, and of this there was never enough. The 
little fellow was often very sad ; more than once he hid 
himself where he could not be seen, and cried as though 
his heart would break. 

The night before Christmas there was to be singing 
in the church, and the schoolmaster was to be there 
with all his boys ; and everybody expected to be very 
happy, listening to the sweet music. 

The winter had set in very cold and stormy, and 
there was much snow on the ground ; and so all the 
other boys came to the church with fur caps drawn 
down over their ears, and heavy coats, and warm 
gloves, and thick, high-topped boots. 

But little Jack had no warm clothes. He came 



1 64 DOING RIGHT 

shivering in the thin coat that he wore on Sundays in 
summer ; and on his feet he had coarse stockings very 
much worn, and a pair of heavy wooden shoes. 

It was very pleasant in the church, and the air was 
so warm that Jack soon forgot the cold. The boys 
sat still for a little while, and then, while the organ 
was making loud music, they began in low voices to 
talk to one another ; and each told about the fine 
things that were going to be done at his home on the 
morrow. 

The mayor's son told of a huge goose that he had 
seen in the kitchen before he came away. It was 
stuffed, and stuck all over with cloves till it was as 
spotted as a leopard. Another boy whispered of a 
little fir tree in a wooden box in his mother's parlor. 
Its branches were laden with fruits, and nuts, and 
candy, and beautiful toys. 

Then the children talked of what Santa Claus would 
bring them, and put in their stockings ; for, of course, 
they meant to leave these by the fireplace when they 
went to bed. The eyes of the little fellows danced with 
joy as they thought of the bags of candy, the lead 
soldiers, and the grand jumping jacks which they 
would draw out in the morning. 

But little Jack said nothing. He knew that his 
aunt had no money to buy him good food or a Christ- 
mas tree. But he felt in his heart that he had been 
all the year as good and kind as he could be ; and so 
he hoped that Santa Claus would not forget him, or 



LITTLE JACK 165 

fail to see his worn old stockings which he would hang 
at the corner of the mantelpiece. 

II 

At last the singing stopped, the organ was silent, 
and the Christmas music was ended. The boys arose 
and left the church, two by two, as they had entered 
it ; and the teacher walked in front. 

Now, as he passed through the door of the church, 
little Jack saw a child on one of the stone steps, lying 
fast asleep in the midst of the snow. The child was 
thinly clad, and his feet, cold as it was, were bare. 

The scholars, well clad and warm, passed before 
the strange child and did not so much as glance that 
way. But little Jack, who was the last to come out 
of the church, stopped when he saw him, and looked 
at him with eyes full of pity. 

"Ah, the poor child !" he said to himself. "How 
sad it is that he must go barefoot in such weather as 
this ! And, what is still more, he has not even a worn- 
out stocking to hang up while he sleeps, so that kind 
Santa Claus can put something in it to make him glad 
when he awakes." 

Little Jack did not stand long to think about it, 
but in the goodness of his heart he took off the wooden 
shoe from his right foot and laid it by the side of the 
sleeping child. Then, limping along through the 
snow, and shivering with cold, he went down the street 
till he came to his cheerless home. 



1 66 



DOING RIGHT 




"In the Goodness of His Heart He Took Off the Wooden 

Shoe." 



LITTLE JACK 167 

His aunt was tired and miserable. "You worthless 
fellow !" she cried. "Where have you been? What 
have you done with your other shoe ?" 

Little Jack trembled now with fear as well as with 
the cold, but he had no thought of deceiving his aunt. 
He told her how he had given the shoe to a child that 
was poorer than himself. The woman was angry ; 
she too was poor and cold. 

"And so," she said, "our fine young gentleman takes 
off his shoes for beggars ! He gives his wooden shoe 
to a barefoot ! Well, we shall see. You may put 
the shoe that is left in the chimney, and, mind what I 
say, if anything is left in it, it will be a switch to whip 
you with in the morning !" 

In the morning, when the old woman arose and 
went downstairs, a wonderful sight met her eyes. The 
chimney place was crowded with beautiful toys, and 
bags of candy, and all kinds of pretty things. Right 
in the midst of these was the wooden shoe that Jack 
had given to the child, and near it was the stocking 
in which the aunt had meant to put a strong switch. 

The woman was so much amazed that she cried out 
and stood still as if in a fright. Little Jack heard the 
cry, and ran downstairs as quickly as he could to see 
what was the matter. He, too, stopped short when 
he saw all the beautiful things that were in the chimney 
place. But as he stood and looked, he heard people 
laughing in the street. What did it all mean ? 

By the side of the town pump many of the neigh- 



1 68 DOING RIGHT 

bors were standing. Each was telling what had 
happened at his. home that morning. The boys who 
had rich parents, and had been looking for beautiful 
gifts, had found only long switches in their stockings. 

Jack looked at his aunt, and then at the wonderful 
gifts around the wooden shoe. Who had placed them 
there : Where now was the kind, good giver : His 
aunt looked and wondered too. 

Then, as they stood in silence, they heard the voice 
of some one reading in the little chapel over the way : 
"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, 
my brethren, ye have done it unto Me." 

Ah ! now they understood dimly how it had all come 
about ; and even the heart of the tired old aunt was 
softened. Her eyes were filled with tears, little Jack's 
face beamed with smiles, as they knelt down together 
and thanked God for what He had done to reward 
the kindness of a little child. 

— From Francois Coppee. 



He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord. 
And his good deed will he pay him again. 

— Proverbs xix. 17. 



V\ ho took care of Jack ? 

V\ hat kind of home did they have ? 

V\ here did Jack go on Christmas eve ? 

How was he dressed ? 

What did the bovs talk about ? 



THE LAST LESSON IN FRENCH 169 

6. When they came out, what did Jack see ? 

7. What did he do ? 

8. How did the aunt feel about this ? 

9. What was Jack's reward ? 

10. What did she tell Jack he would find in his shoe ? 

11. Tell what they found on Christmas morning. 

12. What did the other boys find ? 

13. Whom did they thank ? 



THE LAST LESSON IN FRENCH 

I was very late that morning on my way to school, 
and was afraid of being scolded, as the master had 
told us he should question us on the verbs, and I did 
not know the first word, for I had not studied my 
lesson. 

For a moment I thought of playing truant. The 
air was so warm and bright, and I could hear the 
blackbirds whistling in the edge of the woods, and 
the Prussians who were drilling in the meadow behind 
the sawmill. 

I liked this much better than learning the rules for 
verbs, but I did not dare to stop, so I ran quickly 
toward school. 

Passing the mayor's office, I saw people standing 
before the little bulletin board. For two years it was 
there that we received all the news of battles, of vic- 
tories and defeats. 

"What is it now?" I thought, without stopping to 
look at the bulletin. 



i 7 o DOING RIGHT 

Then, as I ran along, the blacksmith, who was 
there reading the bill, cried out to me, "Not so fast, 
little one, you will reach your school soon enough/' 

I thought he was laughing at me, and ran faster 
than ever, reaching the school yard quite out of 
breath. 

Usually, at the beginning of school, a loud noise 
could be heard from the street. Desks were being 
opened and closed, and lessons repeated at the top 
of the voice. Occasionally the heavy ruler of the 
master beat the table, as he cried, "Silence, please, 
silence !" 

I hoped to be able to take my seat in all this noise 
without being seen ; but that morning the room was 
quiet and orderly. 

Through the open window I saw my schoolmates 
already in their places. The master was walking 
up and down the room with the iron ruler under his 
arm and a book in his hand. 

As I entered he looked at me kindly, and said, with- 
out scolding : "Go quickly to your place, little Franz ; 
we were just going to begin without you. You should 
have been here five minutes ago." 

I climbed over my bench and sat down at once at 
my desk. Just then I noticed, for the first time, that 
our master wore his fine green coat with the ruffled 
frills, and his black silk embroidered cap. 

But what surprised me more was to see some of the 
village people seated on the benches at the end of the 



THE LAST LESSON IN FRENCH 171 

room. One of them was holding an old spelling book 
on his knee ; and they all looked sadly at the master. 

While I was wondering at this, our schoolmaster 
took his place, and in the same kind tone in which he 
had received me, he said: "My children, this is the 
last time that I shall give you a lesson. An order 
has come from Berlin that no language but German 
may be taught in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine. 
A new master will come to-morrow who will teach 
you German. To-day is your last lesson in French. 
I beg of you to pay good attention/' 

These words frightened me. This is what they 
had posted on the bulletin board, then ! This is 
what the blacksmith was reading. 

My last lesson in French ! I hardly knew how to 
write, and I never should learn now. How I longed 
for lost time, for hours wasted in the woods and fields, 
for days when I had played and should have studied. 

My books that a short time ago had seemed so 
tiresome, so heavy to carry, now seemed to me like 
old friends. 

I was thinking of this when I heard my name called. 
It was my turn to recite. What would I not have 
given to be able to say the rules without a mistake ? 
But I could not say a word, and stood at my bench 
without daring to lift my head. Then I heard the 
master speaking to me. 

"I shall not scold you, little Franz. You are pun- 
ished enough now. Every day you have said to your- 



172 DOING RIGHT 

self: 'I have plenty of time. I will learn my lesson 
to-morrow.' Now you see what has happened. " 

Then he began to talk to us about the French 
language, saying that it was the most beautiful tongue 
in the world, and that we must keep it among us and 
never forget it. 

Finally he took the grammar and read us the lesson. 
I was surprised to see how I understood. Every- 
thing seemed easy. I believe, too, that I never lis- 
tened so well ; and it almost seemed as if the good man 
were trying to teach -us all he knew in this last lesson. 

The lesson in grammar ended, we began our writ- 
ing. For that day the master had prepared some new 
copies, on which were written, "Alsace, France ; Alsace, 
France." 

They seemed like so many little flags floating about 
the schoolroom. How we worked ! Nothing was 
heard but the voice of the master and the scratching 
of pens on the paper. There was no time for play now. 

On the roof of the schoolhouse some pigeons were 
softly cooing, and I said to myself, "Will they, too, be 
obliged to sing in German ?" 

From time to time, when I looked up from my 
page, I saw the master looking about him as if he 
wished to impress upon his mind everything in the room. 

After writing, we had a history lesson. Next, 
the little ones recited in concert their "Ba, be, bi, 
bo, bu." 

Oh, I shall remember that last lesson ! 



THE LAST LESSON IN FRENCH 173 




"And Wrote in Large Letters, 'VIVE LA FRANCE! 



174 DOING RIGHT 

Suddenly the church clock struck the hour of noon. 
The master rose from his chair. "My friends," said 
he, "my friends, — I — I — " 

But something choked him ; he could not finish 
the sentence. He turned to the blackboard, took a 
piece of chalk, and wrote in large letters, "VIVE LA 
FRANCE!" 

Then he stood leaning against the wall, unable 
to speak. He signed to us with his hand: "It is 
ended. You are dismissed." 

— Translated from the French of 
Alphonse Daudet. 



We must work the works of Him that sent me, while it is 
day : the night cometh, when no man can work. 

— John ix. 4. 



1. Why did Franz think of playing truant ? 

2. What did he see at the mayor's office ? 

3. What did he find when he reached school ? 

4. Why was the master sad ? 

5. In what way was Franz punished ? 



GAPPER SKYBLUE'S BASKET 

My Dear Grandmother, — 

I was going to tell you about "Gapper Skyblue." 
"Gapper" means grandpa. He wears all the time 
blue overalls, faded out, and a jacket like them. That's 



GAPPER SKYBLUE'S BASKET 175 

why they call him "Gapper Skyblue." He's a very 
poor old man. He saws wood. We found him leaning 
up against a tree. Benjie and I were together. His 
hair is all turned white, and his back is bent. He had 
great patches on his knees. His hat was an old hat 
that he had given him, and his shoes let in the mud. 
I wish you would please to be so good as to send me 
both your old-fashioned india-rubbers, to make balls 
of, as quick as holes come. Most all the boys have 
lost their balls. And please to send some shoe-strings 
next time, for I have to tie mine up all the time now with 
some white cord that I found, and it gets into hard 
knots, and I have to stoop my head way down and 
untie 'em with my teeth, because I cut my thumbs 
whittling, and jammed my fingers in the gate. 

Old Gapper Skyblue's nose is pretty long, and he 
looked so funny leaning up against a tree, that I was 
just going to laugh. But then I remembered what you 
said a real gentleman would do, — that he would 
be polite to all people, no matter what clothes they had 
on, or whether they were rich people or poor people. 
He had a big basket with two covers to it, and we offered 
to carry it for him. 

He said, "Yes, little boys, if you won't lift up the 
covers." 

We found 'twas pretty heavy. And I wondered 
what was in it, and so did Benjie. The basket was 
going to "The Two Betseys." 

When we had got halfway there, Dorry and Tom 



i 7 6 DOING RIGHT 

Cush came along, and called out : "Hallo ! there, you 
two. What are you lugging off so fast ?" 

We said we didn't know. They said, "Let's see." 
We said, "No, you can't see." Then they pushed us. 
Gapper was a good way behind. I sat down on one 
cover, and Benjie on the other, to keep them shut up. 

Then they pulled us. I swung my arms round, and 
made the sand fly with my feet, for I was just as mad 
as anything. Then Tom Cush hit me. So I ran to 
tell Gapper to make haste. But first picked up a stone 
to send at Tom Cush. But remembered about the 
boy that threw a stone and hit a boy, and he died. I 
mean the boy that was hit. And so dropped the stone 
down again and ran like lightning. 

"Go it, you pesky little red-headed firebug!" cried 
Tom Cush. 

"Go it, Spunkum! I'll hold your breath," Dorry 
hollered out. 

The dog, the shaggy dog that licked my face when I 
was lying under the trees, he came along and growled 
and snapped at them, because they were hurting Benjie. 
You see Benjie treats him well, and gives him bones. 
And the master came in sight too. So they were glad 
to let us alone. 

The basket had rabbits in it. Gapper Skyblue 
wanted to pay us two cents apiece. But we wouldn't 
take pay. We wouldn't be so mean. 

When we were going along to school, Bubby Short 
came and whispered to me that Tom and Dorry were 



GAPPER SKYBLUE'S BASKET 177 

hiding my bird's eggs in a post-hole. But I got them 
again. Two broke. 

Bubby Short is a nice little fellow. He's about as 
old as I am, but over a head shorter and quite fat. 
His cheeks reach way up into his eyes. He's got little 
black eyes, and little cunning teeth, just as white as 
the meat of a punkin-seed. 

I had to pay twenty cents of that quarter you sent, 
for breaking a square of glass. But didn't mean to, so 
please excuse. I haven't much left. 

Your affectionate grandchild, 

William Henry. 

P.S. When punkins come, save the seeds — to roast. 
If you please. 



He that is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much : 
and he that is unrighteous in a very little is unrighteous 
also in much. 

— Luke xvi. 10. 



1. Who was "Gapper Skyblue" ? 

2. What was he carrying ? 

3. What did the boys offer to do ? 

4. What did he tell them ? 

5. Who wanted to open the basket ? 

6. What did William Henry do ? 

7. Why did the boys refuse to take the money ? 

8. What do you think of Tom Cush ? 

9. Memorize the Bible verse. 



i 7 8 DOING RIGHT 



THE TWO BETSEYS' GARDEN 

My Dear Grandmother, — 

Yesterday Dorry and I started from the pond to 
run and see who would get home first. He went one 
way, and I went another. 

I cut across the Two Betseys' garden. But I don't 
see how I did so much hurt in just once cutting across. 
I knew something cracked, — that was the sink-spout 
I jumped down on, off the fence. There was a board 
I hit, that had huckleberries spread out on it to dry. 
They went into the rain-water hogshead. I didn't 
know any huckleberries were spread out on that 
board. 

I meant to go between the rows, but guess I stepped 
on a few beans. My wrist got hurt dreadfully by my 
getting myself tripped up in a squash vine. And 
while I was down there, a bumblebee stung me on my 
chin. I stepped on a little chicken, for she ran the 
way I thought she wasn't going to. I don't remember 
whether I shut the gate or not. But guess not, for 
the pig got in, and went to rooting before Lame 
Betsey saw him, and the other Betsey had gone some- 
where. 

I got home first, but my wrist ached, and my sting 
smarted. You forgot to write down what was good 
for bumblebee stings. Benjie said his Aunt Polly 
put damp sand on to stings. So he put a good deal of 



THE TWO BETSEYS' GARDEN 179 

it on my chin, and it got better, though my wrist 
kept aching in the night. And I went to school with 
it aching. But didn't tell anybody but Benjie. Just 
before school was done, the master said we might put 
away our books. Then he talked about the Two 
Betseys, and told how Lame Betsey got lame by 
saving a little boy's life when the house was on fire. 
She jumped out of the window with him. And he made 
us all feel ashamed that we great strong boys should 
torment two poor women. 

Then he told about the damage done the day before 
by some boy running through their garden, and said 
five dollars would hardly be enough to pay it. "I 
don't know what boy it was, but if he is present," 
says he, "I call upon him to rise." 

Then I stood up. I was ashamed, but I stood up. 
For you told me once this saying : " Even if truth be 
a loaded cannon, walk straight up to it." 

The master ordered me not to go on to the playgound 
for a week, nor be out of the house in play hours. 
From your affectionate grandchild, 
William Henry. 

1. What did William Henry and Dorry start to do ? 

2. Where did William Henry go ? 

3. What happened to him ? 

4. What did the teacher tell them next day ? 

5. Why did William Henry tell that he did the damage ? 

6. How was he punished ? 

7. Tell the story of " The Two Betseys' Garden." 



I So DOING RIGHT 



PAYING THE COST 



My Dear Grandmother, — 

Lame Betsey gave me something to put on my wrist 
that cured it. I went there to ask how much money 
must be paid. I had sold my football, and my brass 
sword, and my pocketbook. They told me they should 
not take any money, but if I would saw some wood for 
them, and do an errand now and then, they should be 
very glad. When I told Dorry, he threw up his hat, 
and called out, "Three cheers for the 'Two Betseys." 
And when his hat came down, he picked it up and passed 
it round ; "for," says he, "we all owe them something." 
One great boy dropped fifty cents in. And it all came 
to about four dollars. And Bubby Short carried it to 
them. But I shall saw some wood for them all the 
same. 

From your affectionate grandchild, 

William Henry. 
— Abby Morton Diaz. Abridged. 



If we confess our sins, he is faithful and righteous to forgive 
us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 

— I John i. 9. 



1. What did Lame Betsey do ? 

2. How did William Henry get money to pay the Betseys ? 

3. What did they tell him ? 

4. What did Dorry do ? 



MARIA MILLIS 181 



MARIA MILLIS 

Many years ago there was a little boy who, though 
his father was a lord, was not very happy. 

His father was too busy to take much notice of him ; 
his mother was so fond of going to fine parties, that 
she almost forgot she had a little boy. And the boy, 
who was a gentle and serious child, felt that he had no 
one to love him. 

But there was one person who took pity on him, and 
loved him, and tried to make him happy. The house- 
keeper was a good, kind woman, and she used to take 
the boy on her lap, and tell him stories, and teach him 
about God. 

The boy became very fond of Maria Millis, as she 
was called. It was not wonderful that he loved her 
dearly. When he went to school, he told her all his 
little troubles, and was always sure that she would 
comfort him. 

He was only eight years old when this good woman 
died. No one can tell how sad he was at the loss of 
his first true friend. 

In her will Maria Millis left the boy her gold watch. 
He was pleased that she had thought of him, and he so 
loved her memory that, up to the end of his long life, 
he never wore any other watch. 

He often showed it to people. "That was given me," 
he would say, "by the best friend I ever had." 



1 82 DOING RIGHT 

The name of Maria Millis deserves to be remembered, 
for that little boy grew up to be the good Lord Shaftes- 
bury. He lived to be more than eighty years old, and 
his long life was spent in doing good. He used to say 
that he owed to the early teaching of Maria Millis all 
the good that he was able to do. 

The thought of his own sad childhood set him 
earnestly to work to make the lives of little children 
happy. Years ago quite young children were em- 
ployed for long hours in factories, and sometimes they 
were cruelly treated by their masters. 

Lord Shaftesbury got laws passed to stop this. 
He hated the thought of little children having no 
brightness in their lives, and he did very much to make 
them happier. 

All poor people found in him a real friend. Even 
the donkeys in the street owed much to him, for he 
gave their masters prizes for those that were kept the 
most carefully. 

The costermongers became very fond of the earl, and 
once they made him a present of a fine white donkey. 
This donkey was often to be seen in London, drawing 
a cart with Lord Shaftesbury's coat of arms painted 
on it. 

Nobody can ever tell how many thousands of people, 
children, and animals owe their happiness to good 
Maria Millis, who taught Lord Shaftesbury to be 
kind. 

— Selected. 



LORD CORNWALLIS' KNEE BUCKLES 183 



Now we that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the 
weak, and not to please ourselves. 

— Romans xv. 1. 

i 

1. Tell about the little boy and the housekeeper. 

2. What did Maria Millis give the boy ? 

3. Why did he always wear it ? 

4. When he grew up, what did he do for children ? 

5. What was this man's name ? 

6. What did he do for the donkeys ? 

7. What present did he receive ? 

8. Who taught Lord Shaftesbury to be kind ? 

LORD CORNWALLIS' KNEE BUCKLES 

At the time of the Revolutionary War, a brave little 
American girl named Anne Randolph lived on a farm 
not far from Philadelphia. Her father and her two 
brothers had joined the American army under the 
command of George Washington. Anne and her 
mother were left alone to take care of the farm. 

Two years before the time of this story Anne's 
father had given her a beautiful calf as a pet, and the 
two had become great friends. Whenever Anne went 
into the field, the young cow came to be petted. 

At one time during the war the English army was 
in Philadelphia. The soldiers, as they marched through 
the country, took the wheat and corn of the farmers, 
and their horses and cattle as well. 

One day the soldiers came to the farm of Mr. Ran- 



1-84 DOING RIGHT 

dolph and seized Anne's pet cow. They tied a rope 
about her horns and drove her away. In great grief 
Anne begged for her pet, but her words had no effect. 

It did not take long for Anne to think what she would 
do. She ran to the stable, saddled her pony, and then 
rode at full speed to see Lord Cornwallis, who was the 
general of the English army. It was a very brave thing 
for a little girl only twelve years of age to do. 

A soldier was marching back and forth in front of the 
general's quarters. "What do you want?" he asked 
Anne, as she galloped up. 

"I wish to see Lord Cornwallis, " she said. 

"What is your business with him ?" asked the soldier. 

"I must see him ; let me pass," replied the girl. 

The soldier let her pass, thinking, no doubt, that 
she had very important news to tell. Lord Cornwallis 
and some of his friends were at dinner when little Anne 
rushed into the room. 

"What do you want, my child ?" asked the general. 

"I want my cow, sir. Your soldiers have taken her 
away, and I have come to get her. Oh, please sir, 
you must let me have her." 

"And who are you, my little girl ?" asked the general, 
kindly. 

"I am Anne Randolph, and I live three miles from 
here with my mother. Have you seen my cow, sir ?" 

"Have you no father or brothers, Anne ?" 

"Yes, sir, but they are in the army." 

"In which army ?" 



LORD CORNWALLIS' KNEE BUCKLES 185 




Keep Them to Remember Me By. 



1 86 DOING RIGHT - 

"In the American army, sir." 

"Oho ! so they are rebels, are they ?" 

"Oh, yes, sir, we are all rebels about here, please, sir." 

"And you are a bit of a rebel yourself ?" 

"Yes, indeed, I was born so." 

The general threw back his head and laughed. 
"And your cow is a rebel, too, I suppose." 

"I think so, sir. She is the nicest cow I ever knew." 

The general and his officers laughed again. "Look 
here, my little rebel," said Lord Cornwallis soberly, 
"don't you know that we are here to fight the rebels ?" 

"Yes, sir, but you are bound to respect our rights," 
Anne answered. "Oh, sir," she continued, "I raised 
my cow myself. She has always been mine. She 
can't belong to you. I must have her. I would never 
steal your cow, sir," the little girl said, proudly. 

The general rose. "Come here, my child. I promise 
you that your cow shall be safe in your barn to-morrow ; 
and here, take these," he said, unfastening a pair of silver 
knee buckles. " Keep them to remember me by. And if 
the soldiers trouble your cow again, come to me at once." 

"Gentlemen," said Lord Cornwallis to his officers, 
after Anne had left, "this country is certain to be free, 
with such determined little rebels in it as this." 

The general kept his promise, and the next morning 
Anne's cow was once more in her own snug stable. 1 

— William H. Elson. 

1 By permission. From Elson Primary School Reader, Bk. IV. Copyright 
1913, by Scott, Foresman & Co. 



DAVID AND SAUL 187 



Thus saith the Lord, Keep ye justice, and do righteousness. 

— Isaiah lvi. 1. 



1. Who was Anne Randolph ? 

2. What had she for a pet ? 

3. What did the soldiers do with the cow ? 

4. To whom did Anne go ? 

5. What promise did Lord Cornwallis make ? 

6. What did he give Anne ? 



DAVID AND SAUL 



I wonder if you can guess why this story is not 
called "Saul and David" ? Great names should come 
first ; and David was only a shepherd boy, whom Saul 
had made first his armor bearer, and then a captain, 
and then his son-in-law, while Saul was Israel's first 
king. 

It seems that as David rose in rank and power, 
Saul grew more and more afraid of him. The king was 
hot-headed, cruel, and selfish. At times he would sit 
in his tent silent and sullen, and then very few of his 
men dared to go near him. Twice he threw his spear at 
David, when David was singing to him and trying to 
cheer him ; and once he was on the point of putting his 
own son, Jonathan, to death, because Jonathan had 
done something which made him angry. David, on 



1 88 DOING RIGHT 

the other hand, was wise and kind and a good soldier, 
and the people loved him. This made Saul jealous ; 
and at last he came to hate David, because he feared 
that the people would make David king in his stead. 
David knew that as long as he lived with Saul his 
life was in danger. Even Saul's own children — 
Michal, who was David's wife, and Jonathan, who was 
his great friend — warned him. So David fled from 
the court of Saul, and became an outlaw, like Robin 
Hood. By and by, men who were in trouble came to 
him and asked him to be their leader. So David be- 
came their captain, and they all lived together in a 
great cave. 

From this time on Saul hunted David as if he had 
been a wolf. He sent men out to find David's hiding 
place and to look for his footprints. Once he caught 
David and his men on a hill, which ended in a steep 
cliff. But just as Saul and his soldiers were creeping up 
the slope, word came that some enemies had marched 
into his country, so that he was forced to turn 
back while David clambered down over the rocks 
and escaped. One would think that David would 
have been glad to kill Saul and rid himself of his 
enemy. But David felt that Saul was his king, even 
though Saul was so unjust to him ; and instead of try- 
ing to get even by doing as much evil to Saul as Saul 
wished to do to him, he chose to be patient and loyal, 
hoping to win back the love of his king by doing him 
good. 



DAVID AND SAUL 



189 




190 DOING RIGHT 

Once when David and a few friends were hiding in a 
cave, Saul came by with three thousand of his men. 
It was noonday, and very hot ; and sending his soldiers 
on, Saul came into the cool shadows of the cave to rest. 
When he fell asleep, David's friends said: "Now is 
your chance ! God has given your enemy into your 
hand. Kill him!" But David only cut off a part of 
the king's garment to prove to Saul that he might have 
slain him had he chosen to do so ; and when Saul awoke 
and went out of the cave, David called to him, and told 
him of his escape, and plead with him to forget his 
jealousy and his anger. The kind deed stirred Saul 
so deeply that he wept, and said : "You are a nobler 
man than I ; for you have done good to me when I 
was trying to do you evil." Still Saul did not want 
to have David made king, and before long he was 
hunting him again. 

One night, when Saul and his soldiers were asleep 
in their tents, David took one of his men and crept 
up close to the camp. They picked their way among 
the wagons, which were placed like a wall around the 
army, kept out of sight of the guards, and at last found 
themselves once more bending over the sleeping king. 
By his side was a cruse of drinking water, while the 
royal spear, with which he had tried to kill David and 
with which he would have slain David now, if they could 
have changed places, was stuck in the ground at his 
head. David's friend was eager to take this and drive it 
through the king's body. But David said : " Do it not ! 






DAVID AND SAUL 191 

God has made him king, and God will punish him for 
his sins. If I slay him, I shall only do more sin, and be 
guilty myself in the eyes of God." So they took the 
spear and the cruse of water, and tiptoed out of the 
camp, going very quietly until they came to a hill from 
which they could easily make their escape. 

Then David called to Abner, Saul's captain, and said : 
"Why, then, have you not kept watch over your lord, 
the king ? See where the king's spear is, and the cruse 
of water that was at his head !" And Saul awaked and 
said: "Is this your voice, my son David?" And 
David said : "It is my voice, my lord, O king." Then 
Saul said: "I have sinned! Return, my son David; 
for I will no more do you harm, because my life was 
precious in your eyes this day. Behold, I have sinned 
much. God make you happy, my son David ! You 
shall do great things, and shall surely win." 

No doubt Saul meant what he said at the time and 
loved David for his great mercy and goodness. But 
even then David did not dare to trust this cruel and 
wicked king, and went back to his men in the open 
country. He never saw Saul again. 

Some years later, when Saul was beaten in a great 
battle and saw how his sins had wrought his ruin, he 
took the sword, with which he wished once to kill 
David, and slew himself. Can you tell now why the 
story is called not "Saul and David," but "David and 
Saul"? 

— Henry Hallam Tweedy. 



1 92 DOING RIGHT 



Ye have heard that it was said, Thou shalt love thy neighbor, 
and hate thine enemy : but I say unto you, Love your 
enemies, and pray for them that persecute you ; that you 
may be sons of your Father who is in heaven : for he 
maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and 
sendeth rain on the just and the unjust. 

— Matthew v. 43-45. 

1. Why did the king want to kill David ? 

2. Where did David go to live ? 

3. Tell how Saul hunted for David. 

4. What chances did David have to kill Saul ? 

5. What did Saul tell David to do ? 

6. Answer the question at the end of the story. 

A THOUGHT 

It is very nice to think 
The world is full of meat and drink, 
With little children saying grace 
In every Christian kind of place. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 

A GRACE AT TABLE 

We thank thee, Father, wise and good, 
For home and friends and daily food. 
Bless to our use the food we take, 
And keep us all, for Jesus' sake. 

— Selected. 



THE EARTH IS THE LORD'S 

GOD IS GOOD 

See the shining dewdrops 
On the flowerets strewed, 

Proving, as they sparkle, 
" God is ever good ! " 

See the morning sunbeams 
Lighting up the wood, 

Silently proclaiming, 
" God is ever good ! " 

Hear the mountain stieamlet 

In the solitude, 
With its ripple, saying, 

" God is ever good ! " 

In the leafy tree-tops, 
Where no fears intrude, 

Joyous birds are singing, 
" God is ever good ! " 

Bring, my heart, thy tributes — 

Songs of gratitude — 
While all Nature utters, 

" God is ever good ! " 



193 



— Anonymous 



THE EARTH IS THE LORD'S 

The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; 
The world, and thev that dwell therein. 



i 94 DOING RIGHT 

For he hath founded it upon the seas, 

And established it upon the floods. 

Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord ? 

And who shall stand in his holy place ? 

He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart : 

Who hath not lifted up his soul unto falsehood. 

And hath not sworn deceitfully. 

He shall receive a blessing from the Lord, 

And righteousness from the God of his salvation. 

This is the generation of them that seek after him, 

That seek thy face, even Jacob. 

Lift up your heads, ye gates : 

And be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors : 

And the King of glory will come in. 

Who is the King of glory ? 

The Lord strong and mighty, 

The Lord mighty in battle. 

Lift up your heads, ye gates ; 

Yea, lift them up, ye everlasting doors : 

And the King of glory will come in. 

Who is this King of glory ? 

The Lord of hosts, 

He is the King of glory. 

— Psalm xxiv. 

Commit to memorv the above Psalm. 



PART V 



A SONG FROM THE SUDS 

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, 

While the white foam rises high ; 
And sturdily wash and rinse and wring, 

And fasten the clothes to dry ; 
Then out in the free, fresh air they swing, 

Under the sunny sky. 

I am glad a task to me is given, 

To labor at day by day ; 
For it brings me health and strength and hope, 

And I cheerfully learn to say, — 
"Head, you may think, Heart, you may feel, 

But, Hand, you shall work alway !" 

— Louisa M. Alcott. 



If any will not work, neither let him eat. 

— II Thessalonians iii. 10. 



1. What is the song about ? 

2. Why should you be glad ? 

3. Learn last two lines. 



197 



i 9 8 DOING RIGHT 



A SHEPHERD BOY AND A GIANT 

Out in the fields, under the sky, a boy was tending 
sheep. The work was not so easy as it seems, for a part 
of the boy's business was to drive off lions and bears. 
He was very brave about it. Whenever a bear took a 
lamb out of the flock, the boy went after him, and they 
fought together, the bear and the boy, and the boy 
killed him. Thus he grew stronger every day, and made 
himself ready to do great things when he became a man. 

One day the prophet Samuel came to the farm in 
Bethlehem where the boy David kept the sheep. He 
was looking for a king. He said that among the young 
men who were working on that farm, one should be 
king of Israel. So David's father brought out his tall 
sons, seven of them, and showed them to the prophet 
one by one ; but not one of them did the prophet 
choose. "Have you no other sons?" said Samuel. 
"Why, yes," the father answered, "there is another, 
the youngest, in the sheepfold." "Bring him," said 
the prophet. So David came, and Samuel appointed 
him to be the king of Israel when he should become a 
man. 

Now at this time there was war between the Israelites 
and the Philistines, and David's older brothers joined 
the army. One day David's father sent him on an 
errand to his brothers. He came to the field where the 
two armies were encamped, and heard them shouting 



A SHEPHERD BOY AND A GIANT 199 

for the battle. In the middle of the field, between the 
armies, he saw a giant. The giant was very tall and 
big, and he was dressed all in brass, so that no sword 
nor spear could touch him. He had a helmet of brass 
upon his head, and a coat made of links of brass, and 
strips of brass covered his legs. He carried a mighty 
spear, and before him went a man who bore his shield. 
He was the champion of the Philistines, and his name 
was Goliath. 

Even as David looked and listened, the giant cried 
out in a great voice, and dared any man of Israel to 
fight him. "Send me a man," he shouted. "If he 
kills me, all the Philistines will be your slaves ; but if 
I kill him, all of you Israelites shall be our slaves." 
And not a man of Israel dared to go out and face him. 

Then David went and found the king. "I will go," 
he said, "and fight with this Philistine." "You!" 
cried the king; "why, you are only a boy, what do 
you know about fighting?" "I know this," answered 
David, "that I have fought with lions and bears. They 
are as bad as giants. I am not afraid. The Lord who 
delivered me out of the paw of the lion and out of the 
paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of 
this Philistine." At last the king gave his consent, and 
David prepared to meet the giant. 

The king proposed to dress David as Goliath was 
dressed, in brass and with a sword ; but David chose to 
fight in his own way. He knew that the heavy clothes 
would only weigh him down and hinder him. Out he 




200 DOING RIGHT 

went, then, wearing no armor, in his shepherd's dress. 
And there was no sword in his hand, only a stick, the 
crook which he used among the sheep. 

When the giant saw the boy, he was both amazed and 
angry. "What is this ?" he cried. "A red-cheeked 
boy ! Come now to me, boy, and I will give your 
flesh to the birds and to the beasts." And David came. 
He came running. In one hand he had his staff, in 
the other hand a sling, and even as he ran, he picked 
up five smooth stones, and put them in the bag which 
was fastened to his girdle. The two armies looked on 
with wonder to see what manner of duel this might be. 

Then David took a stone and put it in his sling and 
slung it. It struck the giant straight in the middle of 
his forehead. Down he fell, all his brazen armor clash- 
ing about him. And that was the end of the fight. 
The giant never stirred again. Away ran the Philis- 
tines, and the Israelites rose up and chased them ; 
and thus a great victory was won by the boy who 
trusted in God and in the skill of his right arm, and 
was not afraid even of a giant. 

— George Hodges. 

i. How did David help his father ? 

2. What did he sometimes have to fight ? 

3. Who came to Bethlehem ? Why did he come ? 

4. Whom did he choose ? 

5. Where was David sent ? What did he see ? 

6. How was the giant dressed ? What did he say ? 

7. Tell how David killed the giant. 

8. In whom did he always trust ? 



A SHEPHERD BOY AND A GIANT 201 




© De Bruno ff, 1904. 

"It Struck the Giant Straight in the Middle of His Fore- 
head." 



202 DOING RIGHT 

THE BOY WHO WORKS 

I doubt if he who lolls his head 
Where idleness and plenty meet, 

Enjoys his pillow or his bread 

As those who earn the meals they eat. 

And man is never half so blest 
As when the busy day is spent 

So as to make his evening rest 
A holiday of glad content. 

— Eliza Cook, 



HOW THE KING WAS CURED 

An eastern king, who had became pale and ill, asked 
a wise dervish what medicine he should take. 

The dervish, knowing that it was exercise alone which 
the idle king needed, said : "I will bring you to-morrow 
a remedy which will cure your disease." 

The next day the dervish appeared before the king. 
"Here," said he, "is a ball which holds the medicine 
that will cure you. Take it into your garden every 
day, and knock it about until you perspire freely. 
This will make the medicine take effect." 

The king did as the dervish told him, and the exercise 
in the fresh air soon made him well. 

— Harry Pratt Judson and Ida C. Bender. 



THE JACK-O'-LANTERN 203 



Beloved, I pray that in all things thou mayest prosper and be 
in health, even as thy soul prospereth. 

— Ill John i. 2. 



1. What was the matter with the king ? 

2. What did the dervish tell him ? 

3. What was the remedy ? 

4. How was the king cured ? 



THE JACK-O'-LANTERN 

The wagon rolled into the yard with a load of large, 
plump, golden-cheeked pumpkins. 

"Now, where shall we put them ?" asked Rollo. 

"Yonder, on the grass, is a good place," replied 
Jonas. "Pile them up and we will leave them for a 
few days to dry in the sun." Jonas began to unload 
the wagon ; he rolled the pumpkins toward Rollo, 
who piled them on the grass. The old white cow, 
standing in the road, stretched her neck over the fence 
and eyed the pumpkins with eager desire. 

"Here is a green one, Jonas ; shall I pile it up with 
the rest ?" 

"No," said Jonas, "it will not ripen. It is good for 
nothing but to give to the pigs or to make a Jack-o'- 
lantern." 

"A Jack-o'-lantern !" said Rollo ; "what is a Jack-o'- 
lantern ?" 



204 DOING RIGHT 

"Did you never see one ?" asked Jonas. 

"No," saidRollo; "what is it ?" 

"Why, you take a pumpkin and scoop out all the 
inside ; then you cut eyes and nose and mouth in it. 
At night you put a candle inside, and carry it out in 
the dark, and it makes a great grinning face of fire." 

"Oh, Jonas, may I make one out of this green 
pumpkin ?" 

"Yes, you may do so. First bring the pumpkin 
to me ; I will mark it for you." 

Rollo brought the pumpkin, and Jonas, taking out his 
knife, marked a circle just below and all round the stem. 

"There," said he; "that is for the cap. Now you 
must get a case-knife and make a deep cut all round 
this mark ; then the cap will come off if you will pull 
it by the handle. Then dig out the inside with an 
old iron spoon, leaving the shell about as thick as your 
finger." 

Rollo got the knife and the spoon. Then, seating 
himself on a log in the yard, he proceeded to make his 
Jack-o'-lantern, while Jonas went off to his work in the 
garden. 

Before Rollo had quite completed his plaything 
he became tired, and concluded to leave it a little while 
and go and look for Jonas. 

"Well, Rollo, have you finished the Jack-o'-lantern ?" 

"No," replied Rollo; "I was tired; so I thought I 
would come and help you work and ask you to tell me 
a story." - 



THE JACK-O'-LANTERN 205 

"I do not think of any story just now, but I can give 

you some advice." 

"Very well/' said Rollo ; "give me some advice." 
"I will tell you two rules my old schoolmaster used 

to teach me, — one for work and one for play. His 

rule for work was this : 

' What is once begun. 
Must always be done/ " 

Rollo laughed at hearing this rule, and asked if all 
the old master's rules were in poetry. 

"His second rule/' continued Jonas, "was for play. 

It was this : 

' When you have done your play, 
Put all your things away.' " 

"I think this is an excellent rule," said Rollo; "for 
children often lose their playthings by leaving them 
about when they have done playing. I never leave my 
things lying about." 

"Indeed!" said Jonas. "Where is your Jack-o'- 
lantern? Have you put that away?" 

"No; but that is not finished yet." 

"Then you have broken both of my old master's 
rules. You have left your work unfinished because 
you were tired of it, and you did not put away your 
playthings when you had done with them. Now let 
us go home." They walked toward the house. 

"Rollo! Rollo! see there!" exclaimed Jonas, as 
they came in sight of the yard. Rollo looked up and 
saw the old white cow eating up his Jack-o'-lantern. 



206 DOING RIGHT 

Rollo picked up a stick and ran after the cow, shout- 
ing out, "Wheh, there! wheh!" as loud and fiercely 
as he could. 

The cow seized another large mouthful and ran off, 
shaking her horns and brandishing her tail. 

"The ugly old cow!" said Rollo, taking up the re- 
mains of the pumpkin. "My Jack-o'-lantern is all 
spoiled. I will get some stones and stone her." 

"Stone her! Stone what?" replied Jonas coolly. 
"Stone the cow?" 

"Yes, of course," answered Rollo; "that ugly old 
cow!" 

"Why, what is the cow to blame for ?" said Jonas. 

"To blame ! Why, she has been eating up my 
Jack-o '-lantern." 

"I do not think the cow is to blame," said Jonas; 
"but somebody is to blame, and I can tell you who. 
If you stone anybody, you had better stone him. The 
person to blame is the boy that left the Jack-o'-lantern 
on the log, and thus let the cow get it." 

"I think," added he, with a laugh, "that if my old 
schoolmaster had known of this case, he would have 
made a good story out of it to illustrate his two rules." 

— Jacob Abbott. 



He also that is slack in his work 
Is brother to him that is a destroyer. 

— Proverbs xviii. 9. 



THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 207 

1. What was on the wagon ? 

2. What was given Rollo ? 

3. How is a Jack-o'-lantern made ? 

4. Why did Rollo leave the lantern ? 

5. What advice did Jonas give Rollo ? 

6. What happened to the pumpkin while Rollo was gone ? 

7. Who was to blame ? 



THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 

A STORY OF HOLLAND 

The good dame looked from her cottage 

At the close of the pleasant day, 
And cheerily called to her little son 

Outside the door at play : 
"Come, Peter, come ! I want you to go, 

While there is light to see, 
To the hut of the blind old man who lives 

Across the dike, for me ; 
And take these cakes I made for him — 

They are hot and smoking yet ; 
You have time enough to go and come 

Before the sun is set." 



And now, with his face all glowing, 
And eyes as bright as the day 

With the thoughts of his pleasant errand, 
He trudged along the way ; 



208 DOING RIGHT 

And soon his joyous prattle 

Made glad a lonesome place — 
Alas ! if only the blind old man 

Could have seen that happy face ! 
Yet he somehow caught the brightness 

Which his voice and presence lent ; 
And he felt the sunshine come and go 

As Peter came and went. 

And now, as the day was sinking, 

And the winds began to rise, 
The mother looked from her door again, 

Shading her anxious eyes ; 
And saw the shadows deepen 

And birds to their homes come back, 
But never a sign of Peter 

Along the level track. 
But she said : "He will come at morning, 

So I need not fret or grieve — 
Though it isn't like my boy at all 

To stay without my leave." 

But where was the child delaying ? 

On the homeward way was he, 
And across the dike while the sun was up 

An hour above the sea. 
He was stopping now to gather flowers, 

Now listening to the sound, 
As the angry waters dashed themselves 

Against their narrow bound. 



THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 209 

"Ah ! well for us," said Peter, 

"That the gates are good and strong, 
And my father tends them carefully, 

Or they would not hold you long \" 
"You're a wicked sea," said Peter; 

"I know why you fret and chafe ; 
You would like to spoil our lands and homes ; 

But our sluices keep you safe !" 

But hark ! Through the noise of waters 

Comes a low, clear, trickling sound ; 
And the child's face pales with terror, 

And his blossoms drop to the ground. 
He is up the bank in a moment, 

And, stealing through the sand, 
He sees a stream not yet so large 

As his slender, childish hand. 
'Tis a leak in the Dike ! He is but a boy, 

Unused to fearful scenes ; 
But, young as he is, he has learned to know 

The dreadful thing that means. 

A leak in the dike ! The stoutest heart 

Grows faint that cry to hear, 
And the bravest man in all the land 

Turns white with mortal fear. 
For he knows the smallest leak may grow 

To a flood in a single night ; 
And he knows the strength of the cruel sea 

When loosed in its angry might. 



DOING RIGHT 




He Forces Back the Weight of the Sea 
With the Strength of His Single Arm ! " 



THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 211 

And the boy ! He has seen the danger, 

And, shouting a wild alarm, 
He forces back the weight of the sea 

With the strength of his single arm ! 
He listens for the joyful sound 

Of a footstep passing nigh ; 
And lays his ear to the ground, to catch 

The answer to his cry. 
He hears the rough winds blowing, 

And the waters rise and fall, 
But never an answer comes to him, 

Save the echo of his call. 

*■,» 5jC «{• 5jC 5f* 1> „ 

The good dame in the cottage 

Is up and astir with the light, 
For the thought of her little Peter 

Has been with her all night. 
And now she watches the pathway, 

As yester eve she had done ; 
But what does she see so strange and black 

Against the rising sun ? 
Her neighbors are bearing between them 

Something straight to her door ; 
Her child is coming home, but not 

As he ever came before ! 

"He is dead !" she cries ; "my darling !" 

And the startled father hears, 
And comes and looks the way she looks, 

And fears the thing she fears : 



212 DOING RIGHT 

Till a glad shout from the bearers 

Thrills the stricken man and wife — 
"Give thanks, for your son has saved our land, 

And God has saved his life !" 
So there in the morning sunshine 

They knelt about the boy ; 
And every head was bared and bent 

In tearful, reverent joy. 

'Tis many a year since then ; but still, 

When the sea roars like a flood, 
Their boys are taught what a boy can do 

Who is brave and true and good. 
For every man in that country 

Takes his son by the hand, 
And tells him of little Peter, 

Whose courage saved the land. 

— Phcebe Cary. 

i 

Hereby know we love, because he laid down his life for us ; 
and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. 

— I John iii. 16. 



On what errand did Peter's mother send him ? 

When did she expect him back ? 

Why didn't he come ? 

How did he save his people ? 

What happened in the morning ? 



THE BROKEN FLOWERPOT 213 

THE BROKEN FLOWERPOT 
I 

Mr. Caxton was seated on the lawn before the 
house, his straw hat over his eyes and his book on his 
lap. Suddenly a beautiful blue-and-white flowerpot, 
which had been set on the window sill of an upper 
story, fell to the ground with a crash, and the pieces 
danced up around his legs. But he read on. 

"Dear, dear!" cried his wife, who was at work in 
the porch ; "my poor flowerpot, that I prized so much ! 
Who could have done this ? Primmins ! Primmins !" 

Old Nurse Primmins popped her head out of the 
window, nodded at the call, and came down in a mo- 
ment, pale and breathless. "Oh!" said Mrs. Caxton 
sadly, "I would rather have lost all the plants in the 
greenhouse, — I would rather the best tea-set were 
broken. The poor lily I reared myself, and the dear, 
dear flowerpot which Mr. Caxton bought for me on 
my last birthday ! That naughty child must have 
done this I" 

Mrs. Primmins was very much afraid of Mr. Caxton, 
probably because persons who talk a great deal often 
are afraid of silent, shy ones. She cast a hasty glance 
at her master, and cried promptly: "No, ma'am; it 
was not the dear boy ; it was I !" 

"You ? How could you be so careless ? And you 
knew how I prized them both. Oh, Primmins !" 



214 DOING EIGHT 

Primmins began to sob. 

"Don't tell fibs, nursey," said a small, shrill voice; 
and Master Archie (coming out of the house as bold as 
brass) went on : " Don't scold Primmins, mother ; 
it was I who pushed out the flowerpot." 

"Hush!" said nurse, more afraid than ever, and 
looking toward her master, who was now taking all in 
with wide-open eyes. "Hush ! — And if he did break 
it, ma'am, it was quite by chance ; he was standing so, 
and he never meant it. Did you, Master Archie ? 
Speak" (this in a whisper), "or father will be so angry !" 

"Well," said Mrs. Caxton, "I suppose it was by 
chance ; take care in the future, my child. You are 
sorry, I see, to have grieved me. There's a kiss ; don't 
fret." 

"No, mother, you must not kiss me ; I don't deserve 
it. I pushed out the flowerpot on purpose." 

"Ha ! and why ?" said Mr. Caxton, waking up. As 
he did so, Mrs. Primmins trembled like a leaf. 

"For fun," said Archie, hanging his head; "just 
to see how you'd look, father ; and that's the truth of 
it. Now beat me, do beat me !" 

Mr. Caxton threw his book down, stopped, and 
caught the boy to his breast. "Boy," he said, "you 
have done wrong : you shall repair it by remembering 
all your life that your father blessed God for giving 
him a son who spoke truth in spite of fear. Oh, Mrs. 
Primmins, the next fable of this kind you try to teach 
him parts us forever." 



THE BROKEN FLOWERPOT 



215 



Not long after this the family doctor gave Archie a 
present. It was a beautiful large domino box in cut 
ivory, painted and gilt. This box was his delight. 
He was never weary of playing dominoes with Mrs. 
Primmins, and he slept with the box under his pillow. 

"Ah !" said his father one day, "you like that better 
than all your other playthings, eh ?" 

"Oh, yes, father!" 

"You would be very sorry if your mother were to 
throw that box out of the window, and break it, for fun ? " 

He looked sadly at his father, and said nothing. 

"But perhaps you would be very glad," he went on, 
"if suddenly one of those good fairies you read of could 
change that domino box into a beautiful lily in a lovely 
blue-and-white flowerpot, and you could have the 
pleasure of putting it on your mother's window sill ?" 

"Indeed I would !" said Archie, half crying. 

"My dear boy, I believe you ; but good wishes don't 
mend bad actions." So saying, he shut the door, and 
went out. 

Archie was much puzzled to make out what his father 
meant ; and he played at dominoes no more that day. 

II 

The next morning his father found him seated by him- 
self under a tree in the garden. He paused, and looked 
at the little boy steadily with his grave bright eyes. 

"My boy," said he, "I am going to walk to the 
town ; will you come ? And, by-the-bye, fetch your 



216 DOING RIGHT 

domino box. I should like to show it to a person 
there." 

Archie ran in for the box ; and, not a little proud of 
walking with his father on the high road, he set out with 
him. 

"Father," said he by the way, "there are no fairies 
now." 

"What then, my child?" 

"Why, how, then, can my domino box be changed 
into a lily and a blue-and-white flowerpot ?" 

"My dear," said his father, leaning his hand on his 
shoulder, "everybody who really wants to be good carries 
two fairies about with him, — one here," and he touched 
his forehead, "and one here," and he touched his heart. 

"I don't understand, father." 

"I can wait till you do." 

His father stopped at a nurseryman's, and, after 
looking over the flowers, paused before a large lily. 

"Ah, this is finer than that which your mother was 
so fond of. What is the cost, sir ?" 

"Only seven-and-six," said the gardener. 

Mr. Caxton buttoned up his pocket. "I can't 
afford it to-day," said he gently ; and they walked out. 

On entering the town they stopped again at a china 
shop. "Have you a flowerpot like that which I bought 
some months ago ? Ah, here is one, marked three-and- 
six. Yes, that is the price. Well, when your mother's 
birthday comes again we must buy her another. That 
is some months to wait ; and we can wait, my boy ; 



THE BROKEN FLOWERPOT 217 

for truth that blooms all the year round is better than a 
poor lily, and a word that is never broken is better 
than a piece of china." 

Archie's head, which had been drooping before, rose 
again ; but the rush of joy at his heart almost stifled him. 

"I have called to pay your little bill/' said Mr. 
Caxton, entering the fancy shop. "And, by the way," 
he added, as the smiling shopman looked over his 
books for the account ; " I think my little boy here can 
show you some fine carving." 

The boy showed his domino box, and the shopman 
admired and praised it very much. 

" It is always well to know what a thing is worth, in 
case one wishes to part with it. If my son gets tired 
of his plaything, what will you give him for it?" 

"Why, sir," said the shopman, "I fear we could not 
afford to give more than eighteen shillings for it, unless 
the young gentleman took some of those pretty things 
in exchange." 

"Eighteen shillings!" said Mr. Caxton. "You 
would give that ? Well, my boy, whenever you do 
grow tired of your box you have my leave to sell it." 

Mr. Caxton paid the bill, and went out. His son 
lingered behind a few moments, and joined him at the 
end of the street. 

"Father ! Father !" he cried, clapping his hands, "we 
can buy the lily! we can buy the flowerpot!" And 
he pulled a handful of silver from his pocket. 

"Did I not say right ?" said his father. "You have 
found the two fairies." 



2l8 



DOING RIGHT 




The Boy Showed His Domino Box." 






THE BROKEN FLOWERPOT 219 

Oh ! how proud, how overjoyed Archie was when, 
after placing vase and flower on the window sill, he 
plucked his mother by the gown, and made her follow 
him to the spot ! 

"It is his doing and his money," said his father; 
"good actions have mended the bad." 

"What !" cried his mother, when she had learned 
all ; " and your poor domino box that you were so fond 
of ! We will go to-morrow, and buy it back, if it costs 
us double." 

"Shall we buy it back, Archie ?" asked Mr. Caxton. 

"Oh, no, no, no ! it would spoil all !" cried the boy. 
Then he ran away to what he used to look back upon 
as one of the happiest days in his life. 

From "The Caxtons," by Bulwer-Lytton. Adapted by Maria 
Edgeworth. 



And Zacchseus stood, and said unto the Lord, Behold, Lord, 
the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have 
wrongfully exacted aught of any man, I restore fourfold. 
And Jesus said unto him, To-day is salvation come to 
this house. 

— Luke xix. 8-9. 



1. What wrong thing did Archie do ? 

2. Why did he do this ? 

3. What pleased his father ? 

4. Tell about Archie's gift. 

5. How did Archie get a pot and plant for his mother ? 

6. Where did Archie's father tell him two fairies lived ? 



DOIXG RIGHT 



HOLMES'S SCHOOL DAYS 

Oliver We\:z:: Hilvis wis seoc :o school when he 
was 3. very little bey. The school "'is in Canobricige- 
port : and the little fellow had a long walk across the 
green fields and through the lanes, for there were very 
lev.- he oses scantling there :heo. 

His first teachei os a scout old lady whom the 
cohere:: called "" Dartre Premiss She used to have a 
long willow rod which reached across the room. If the 
children were idle or in mischief, she would touch them 
with this rod to remind them that it was time to study. 

The boys in Canobridgeport used to make fun of 
Oliver and tease him. One day he went to school 
wearing a new hat with a wide brim. "Hullo you, 
sir!" said a roguish boy. "Did you know there was 
g ore : : be a : ; e to-morrow i" "No, who's going to 
run ? Where's it going to be ?" 

"Squire Mills and Dr. Williams 'round the brim of 
your hat." Then the boy made a race, and Oliver 
knew he was making fun of him. 

The future poet was full of childish fancies. He 
would throw a stone at a :ree to get the answer to a 
question. If he hit the tree, he would think the answer 
os i es When he was walking he would try to 
seep from one stone to another, or else walk upon the 
patches of gross. 

Oover s rather ; cot :o:o re ; o it Phihit s Academv, 
at Aod'Cver, when oe was hcteeo vears ■:■: icro Ho 



HOLMES'S SCHOOL DAYS 221 

father and mother drove to the school with him. They 
went up the long road, past the old powder house, 
through country lanes, until they reached Andover. 

They stopped at a white house, where one of the 
professors lived. When they drove away, Oliver 
watched the carriage until it was lost to sight. 

How lonely it was for the poor boy ! He was very 
homesick, and longed to be back in the old house with 
his father and mother. 

There was an old lady living at the house of the 
professor. She was very deaf, but kind-hearted, and 
she felt sorry for Oliver. She gave him some medicine, 
thinking it would make him better, but it did not cure 
his homesickness. 

Before many days he made friends with the other 
boys, and became interested in his lessons, and soon the 
homesickness passed away. 

The old clock on the Academy seemed to strike very 
slowly. His roommate said that Oliver ran away 
one day when the clock began to strike eleven, but they 
caught him before the last stroke. 

The boys used to walk to Indian Ridge, and they 
often went swimming in the river near by. They had 
many good times together, and Oliver made some 
pleasant friends. He once went to visit one of the 
boys who lived at Haverhill, and while there he saw an 
old house with a bullet hole in it. The bullet which 
made the hole had been fired by the Indians, in 1703, 
at a minister by the name of Benjamin Rolfe. 



222 DOING RIGHT 

There was an old elm tree in Andover which, it was 
said, had had hoops of iron put around it to prevent 
the Indians from cutting into it with their tomahawks. 

There were no hoops to be seen, and it was said that 
the bark of the tree had grown over and buried them. 

A great many years afterwards, Doctor Holmes 
went back to Andover for a day, and visited the places 
in which he and his schoolmates had had so many good 
times in the years of long ago. He said it seemed 
as if the little boy of that far-distant time went about 
with him all day. 

When he went to the station to take the train, he 
asked the agent for two tickets. But the little figure, 
which seemed to be at his side, whispered, "When 
you leave this place, you leave me behind you," so he 
bought but one ticket, and said, " Good-by, little ghost." * 

— Ellen M. Cyr. Adapted. 



In your faith supply virtue ; and in your virtue knowledge ; 
and in your knowledge self-control; and in your self- 
control patience ; and in your patience godliness ; and in 
your godliness brotherly kindness ; and in your brotherly 
kindness love. - n Peter i. 5-7. 



1. Where did Holmes first go to school ? 

2. Where did he go next ? 

3. How did he feel ? 

4. Who tried to cure him ? 

5. What were some of the things he did ? 

1 From Cyr's Reader, Book IV ; by permission of Ginn k Co., publishers. 



HOW THE CHILDREN WERE FED 223 

HOW THE CHILDREN WERE FED 

Mrs. Van Loon was a widow. She had four little 
children. The oldest was Dirk, a boy of eight years. 

One evening the poor mother had no bread, and her 
children were hungry. She folded her hands, and 
prayed to God ; for she believed that He loved and 
would help her. 

When she had finished her prayer, Dirk said to her, 
"Mother, doesn't the Bible say that God told the 
ravens to take some bread to a good man when he was 
hungry?" 

"Yes," answered the mother, "but that was long, 
long ago, my dear." 

"Well," said Dirk, "then the Lord may send ravens 
now. Fll go and open the door, and maybe they'll fly 
in." 

In a trice Dirk jumped to the door, which he left 
wide open, so that the light of the lamp fell on the 
pavement of the street. 

Shortly after the burgomaster passed by. The 
burgomaster is the chief magistrate of a Dutch or Ger- 
man town or city. Seeing the door open, he stopped. 

Looking into the room, he was pleased with its clean, 
tidy appearance, and with the nice little children who 
were grouped around their mother. He could not help 
stepping in ; and, approaching Mrs. Van Loon, he 
said, " Eh, my good woman, why is your door open so 
late as this ?" 



224 DOING RIGHT 

Mrs. Van Loon was a little confused when she saw 
so well-dressed a gentleman in her poor room. She 
quickly rose and dropped a curtsy to him ; then, 
taking Dirk's cap from his head, and smoothing his 
hair, she answered with a smile, "My little Dirk has 
done it, sir, that the ravens may fly in, to bring us 
bread/' 

Now the burgomaster was dressed in a black coat 
and black trousers, and he wore a black hat. He 
was quite black all over, except his collar and shirt 
front. 

"Ah! indeed!" he exclaimed cheerfully, "Dirk is 
right. Here is a raven, you see, and a large one, too. 
Come along, Dirk, and Fll show you where the bread 
is." 

The burgomaster took Dirk to his house, and ordered 
his servant to put two loaves and a pot of butter into 
a basket. This he gave to Dirk, who carried it home 
as quickly as he could. When the other little children 
saw the bread, they began to dance and clap their 
hands. The mother gave each of them a thick slice 
of bread and butter, which they ate with the greatest 
relish. 

When they had finished their meal, little Dirk opened 
the door, and, taking his cap from his head, looked up 
to the sky and said, "Many thanks, good Lord !" and 
shut the door. 

— John de Liefde. 



HOW THE CHILDREN WERE FED 



225 




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226 DOING RIGHT 



Pure religion and undefiled before our God and Father is 
this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, 
and to keep oneself unspotted from the world. 

— James i. 27. 



1. Who was Mrs. Van Loon P 

2. Tell about her children. 

3. What did the mother pray for ? 

4. What did Dirk ask her ? 

5. What did he do? 

6. Who passed by ? 

7. What did the burgomaster do ? 

8. What did the burgomaster call himself? 

9. Where did he take Dirk ? 

10. What did he give Dirk ? 

11. Whom did Dirk thank for the food ? 



THE BLUE BOY 



Thomas Gainsborough was the youngest son in a 
family of nine happy, hearty English children. His 
home was in the small town of Sudbury, and with four 
merry girls and five lively boys, it must have been a 
busy place. 

Thomas learned to read and write from his uncle, 
who was head master of the Grammar School in Sud- 
bury. But he made little progress in his other lessons, 
and his teacher often complained of his poor work. 

Thomas loved to draw pictures of the trees and 



THE BLUE BOY 227 

brooks near his home. He liked the woods and mead- 
ows much better than the schoolroom. Sometimes 
his father gave him a note to his teacher, saying, "Give 
Tom a holiday." Then away he ran with pencil and 
paper to spend long happy hours in the fields. At 
tea time he would bring home the clever sketches he 
had made of trees, rocks, and waterfalls. 

In school, if the master had peeped over Tom's 
shoulder, he would often have found him drawing little 
pictures on the blank pages of his books instead of 
studying. The other boys did Tom's sums, or worked 
his problems in fractions, while he made sketches in their 
books. No doubt he often drew the laughing faces of 
the boys themselves. 

Just back of the Gainsborough home there was a fine 
old orchard. Near the fence which separated it from 
the public road was a large pear tree. One autumn the 
ripe fruit began to disappear from the tree, and though 
watch was kept, not so much as a squirrel was seen 
near it. 

Very early one morning Thomas went to a rustic 
summer house in the orchard to sketch the tree. While 
at work he saw a man's face peeping over the fence. 
After looking all around, the man eagerly climbed over 
the fence and up into the tree. Tom kept very still until 
he had sketched the man in the tree. Then he came 
out of the summer house, but the man quickly ran away. 

Tom carried the sketch to his father, who at once 
knew the man. This first portrait sketch was kept for 



228 DOING RIGHT 

many years. Then a painting was made from it and 
named "Jack Peartree's Portrait." 

When Tom's father looked at the pear tree sketch 
and thought of the other sketches his son had made, he 
said that Tom would be a great artist and must have a 
chance to study painting. 

When Thomas Gainsborough was fifteen years old 
he was sent to London to study. The great city was a 
wonderful place for him. There were shop windows 
full of strange things ; there was the quiet river Thames 
with its many boats, and there were the many gardens 
and palaces of the king. 

There was always a great crowd of people, too, in 
the busy streets of the city. But the boy was often 
lonely and homesick, for nobody noticed the little art 
student in those days. Nobody ever dreamed that he 
would some day be a wonderful painter. 

After three or four years in London he went home to 
really begin his work as an artist. For nearly thirty 
years he studied and worked until he was one of the 
greatest painters in England. Then he went back to 
London to live, and opened a studio there. 

When King George the Third heard that Gainsbor- 
ough had arrived in town, he sent for him to come to 
Windsor Castle and the artist was engaged to paint 
the King's portrait. Then Queen Charlotte, George, 
Prince of Wales, and the three royal princesses had 
their portraits painted. All the people of the King's 
court followed the example of the royal family. The 






THE BLUE BOY 229 

artist's studio was rilled with beautiful ladies in rich 
silks and laces and with fine gentlemen in satin coats, 
velvet knee breeches, and silver-buckled shoes. 

Mrs. Siddons, the greatest English actress of that 
time, was one of those who came to Mr. Gainsborough's 
studio for a portrait. He painted the beautiful, earnest 
woman in her shimmering gown of blue and buff silk, 
with its soft folds and delicate laces. This picture is 
called the best portrait of the great actress as well as 
one of the best paintings of the great artist. 

The portrait called "The Blue Boy" is one of the 
most beautiful of Mr. Gainsborough's paintings. 
Master Jonathan Buttall probably thought it great 
fun at first to pose for his picture and to watch the 
great painter at work. 

Mr. Gainsborough arranged the curtains of the stu- 
dio so that the light was just right and then Master 
Jonathan was turned and twisted until he was in the 
very best position. "Stand just where you are, my 
boy," said the artist. "That's fine! don't move." 
Then he went to work, and the picture began to grow 
with the swift, sure strokes of his brush. 

No doubt Master Jonathan often thought the time 
long when he had to stand in the same place day after 
day, instead of running away to a game of cricket or 
tennis. He could not know that after two hundred 
years the boys and girls of other countries would read 
about him and admire the fine picture. 

He is painted standing bare-headed in the open 




Gainsborough. 

"'The Blue Boy' Is One of the Most Beautiful of Mr. 
Gainsborough's Paintings." 



THE YEAR ONE 231 

country against a dull, rich background of grass and 
trees and stormy gray sky. His satin coat and knee- 
breeches are blue and in one hand he carries his large 
hat with its white plume. 

Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was a great artist living in 
London at this time, had said that the light parts of a 
picture should always be painted in the warm colors of 
yellow, red, or yellowish white. The painting of "The 
Blue Boy" shows that the cold colors of blue, gray, and 
green may also be used to make a very beautiful picture. 1 

— Frances Elizabeth Chutter. 



And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us ; 
And establish thou the work of our hands upon us ; 
Yea, the work of our hands establish thou it. 

— Psalm xc. 17. 



1. How did Gainsborough learn to read and write ? 

2. What did he like better than studying ? 

3. What was his first portrait sketch ? 

4. How long did he study ? 

5. Who sent for Gainsborough ? 

6. Describe the picture "The Blue Boy." 



THE YEAR ONE 

Once upon a time there was a Year One. Strangely 
enough it was not the beginning of the years. The 
world was already very old : nobody knows how old. 

1 From Art- Literature Readers, reprinted by permission of Atkinson, Mentzer & Co. 



232 DOING RIGHT 

People had been living on the earth, time out of mind, 
in mighty nations fighting great battles and building 
great cities. But somehow everything seemed to begin 
over again that year, because that was when the King 
came. And we have taken it ever since as the most 
important of all dates. When we say that this present 
year is Nineteen-hundred-and-something, we mean 
that the Year One was just so many years ago. 

It is always to be remembered about that year that 
one of its days was Christmas Day. 

You may not think that strange. Christmas comes 
so regularly every year, like apples in autumn and snow 
in winter, that it seems to belong to the order of nature, 
and one may easily imagine that it has been celebrated 
always, and that it is as old as boys and girls. But the 
truth is that there was never any Christmas till the 
Year One. 

Year after year, and year after year, the evergreen 
trees grew in the woods and nobody came to get them. 
Nobody thought of lighting them up with candles or of 
loading them down with candies. The holly showed 
its berries of red and the mistletoe its berries of white, 
and nobody paid any attention to them : except per- 
haps the Druids, whoever they were, and they had never 
heard of Christmas. The twenty-fifth day of December 
came and went, like the twenty-second and the twenty- 
ninth ; and boys and girls were born and grew up into 
men and women with never a Christmas carol nor a 
Christmas tree nor a Christmas gift, and without hav- 



THE YEAR ONE 233 

ing so much as heard of the singing angels or of the 
Holy Child ; because that was before the King came. 

Now, in the Year One, there lived in a quiet little 
place, in a small village hidden among hills, a young 
girl named Mary. I cannot tell you how old she was, 
but we will guess that she was at the age when girlhood 
passes into womanhood. Neither can I tell you how 
she looked, or whether her eyes were brown like the 
earth or blue like the sky ; but we may be sure that she 
had a sweet face, because she was very good and gentle, 
and had a fair and sweet soul. At last God gave her 
a little son who was to be the world's Saviour. He 
grew to be so good and so great that men told the most 
wonderful stories about him ; and the tale that they 
loved to tell about his beautiful mother is this : 

One day, Mary was sitting alone in her room. She 
may have been reading ; for we know that she loved 
to read. A poem which she wrote, called the Magnifi- 
cat, is full of the memories of books. Or she may have 
been sewing ; for she was presently to be married, and 
would be getting ready for the wedding. She was to 
marry a neighbor, the village carpenter, named Joseph. 
It was a spring morning, and the flowers were in blos- 
som, and the birds were singing, and the sun was shin- 
ing. Thus she sat, with her heart full of beautiful 
thoughts, when of a sudden such a gleam of splendor 
shone about her that it seemed as if the sun had been 
under a thick cloud, and had just come out and begun 
to blaze in good earnest. Mary turned to see where 



234 DOING RIGHT 

this new brightness came from ; and there beside the 
door, dressed all in white, stood a resplendent angel. 

The angel said, "Hail, thou that art highly favored, 
the Lord is with thee : blessed art thou among women." 
And Mary was afraid, and began to tremble ; so that 
the angel said, " Fear not, Mary : for thou hast found 
favor with God/' Then, while she held her breath 
and listened, he told his wonderful errand. God had 
seen the sin and sorrow that were upon the earth. He 
had heard little children, and even grown men and 
women, fathers and mothers, crying. He knew how 
people were trying to be good and making a sad failure 
of it because they were ignorant or weak. And now 
God was about to do what He had long promised : He 
was to come and live among us. God had, indeed, 
lived among men always, as He does to-day : always 
and everywhere we are in the presence of God. But 
now he was to make himself known in a new way. The 
King of Glory was to take our human nature upon him, 
and become a man like us. He was to come, not in his 
royal robes of splendor, not in the garments of the 
sunset, not with his holy angels with him, but as a little 
child, to be born as we are, to grow as we grow, and thus 
by living our life to teach us how to live. And when the 
King came in his humility, Mary was to be his mother. 

And Mary said, " Behold the handmaid of the Lord ; 
be it unto me according to thy word." Then the angel 
departed from her. That was the first day of the Year 
One. — George Hodges, 



CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE 235 



He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Most 
High ; . . . and of his kingdom there shall be no end. 

— Luke i, 32, 33. 



1. In what year was the first Christmas ? 

2. How many years ago was that ? 

3. Who lived among the hills ? 

4. What did she see one day ? 

5. What did the angel tell her ? 

6. What did God send her ? 

7. How was this baby going to help people ? 



CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE 

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night ! 
Christmas in lands of the fir tree and pine. 
Christmas in lands of the palm tree and vine. 
Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white. 
Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright ! 

Christmas where children are hopeful and gay, 
Christmas where old men are patient and gray, 
Christmas where peace, like a dove in his flight, 
Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight, 
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night. 

For the Christ-Child who comes is the Master of all ; 
No palace too great and no cottage too small. 

— Phillips Brooks. 




Everywhere, Everywhere, 



Blashficld. 

Christmas To-night." 



SHEPHERDS AND SINGING ANGELS 237 



For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given ; and the 
government shall be upon his shoulders : and his name 
shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Ever- 
lasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his 
government and of peace there shall be no end. 

— Isaiah ix. 6-7. 



SHEPHERDS AND SINGING ANGELS 

Another beautiful story that men loved to tell 
about the birth of Jesus is this. One cold winter night 
there were shepherds in a pasture close by the town 
of Bethlehem, watching their flocks. We seldom see 
shepherds in this country. The men with sticks who 
drive sheep through the streets are not true shepherds. 
Shepherds never drive sheep : they go before and call 
them, and the sheep know the shepherd's voice and 
follow him. While the flocks are in the fields, the 
shepherds stay among them to keep them from stray- 
ing off and getting lost, and to protect them from 
wolves and bears in places where such wild animals are 
found. 

There are countries where the grass is green all the 
year round, and where almost the only snow which 
the people see is on the tops of the mountains. In such 
countries the sheep can feed in the fields even in the 
winter. 

In the old time — in the Year One — people when 



2 3 8 DOING RIGHT 

they went to church on great holy days carried little 
lambs with them. That would seem queer nowadays. 
Imagine a church where everybody had a lamb under 
his arm instead of a prayer book ! I am afraid that 
most small boys, and even some small girls, would 
find it hard to sit perfectly still in a church full of 
frisky little woolly lambs. But in those days they 
were used to it, and did not mind it. The people 
brought the lambs to give to God. And they brought 
the very best lambs, because they wished to give God 
the very best they had. Some of the lambs came from 
these Bethlehem pastures : and they who took care 
of the church lambs would be good shepherds, gentle 
and kind men. 

So it was in the winter night, and the stars were 
shining and all was still, and in the fields the flocks 
were sleeping while the shepherds watched. We may 
guess that, as they watched, they talked together and 
told one another stories ; especially about David, 
who, when he was a boy, had lived at Bethlehem, and 
had lain out many a frosty night in that very pasture 
with his sheep, and once had killed a lion and a bear. 
The lion and the bear had come to get the sheep, and 
young David had fought with them and killed them. 
And they sang the Shepherd's Psalm, "The Lord is 
my shepherd." And they spoke of the King of Glory, 
how he would sometime come, according to the prom- 
ise : and they wondered how he would look, and what 
he would do when he came. And they said, "When 



SHEPHERDS AND SINGING ANGELS 239 

he comes he will be seen here in Bethlehem." For 
that was written in the Bible. 

Then, as they watched and talked and sang, sud- 
denly something happened. 

All at once a great and wonderful light began to 
shine, brighter and brighter, in the black sky, till the 
night was like the day. All the clouds came out in 
the splendid garments which they wear in the early 
morning and in the late afternoon. And out of the 
central shining appeared an angel of the Lord, gleam- 
ing like a flame of fire. The shepherds fell upon their 
faces, not daring to look up, hardly daring to listen or 
to breathe, while the angel spoke. "Fear not," he 
said, "for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great 
joy which shall be to all people. The King has come ! 
To-night he is born, yonder in Bethlehem. There shall 
you find him, sleeping in a manger." 

And then the sky grew brighter still, as if behind 
the clouds the gates of heaven itself were swinging 
open, and out there came angels upon angels, a multi- 
tude of the heavenly host, shining and singing. This is 
what they sang : 

"Glory to God in the highest, 
And on earth peace, 
Good will toward men !" 

Then the chorus ceased, and the choir went back 
into heaven, shutting the golden gates behind them ; 
and the night was dark and still again, and the shep- 
herds were alone. So up they leaped, crying one to 



240 DOING RIGHT 

another with great joy, "Let us go to Bethlehem and 
see ! Let us find the King !" And off they went, down 
the frosty road, their eager feet making a great noise 
in the silent night and their breath white behind them. 

Now, all that day, travelers had been journeying 
in unusual numbers along the ways which led to Bethle- 
hem, for it was the time of a census. Caesar Augustus, 
emperor of Rome, wished to know how many people 
were living in that part of the country, so that he could 
make them all pay taxes. Every man had to go to his 
own city ; that is, to the place in which his family 
belonged. So there was a great stir all about the land, 
with men going to this place and to that to have their 
names written in the census books. Among the others, 
out of Nazareth came Joseph the carpenter, because 
he was of the family of David, and with him Mary, 
his espoused wife, who was to be the mother of the 
King. Down they came like other poor folk, over hill 
and dale, till they arrived at Bethlehem. But when 
they reached the town there was no place where they 
might stay. Every house was full of guests, and the 
inn was already crowded. The only shelter was a 
stable, — a common stable, strewn with hay, with 
dusty cobwebs hanging from the rafters, and occupied 
by cows and donkeys. There, accordingly, they went. 

And there, while the angels sang and the sky blazed 
over the pastures of the sheep, the King came. The 
King of Glory came ! The mighty God, the Maker of 
all things, the Lord most high, came to dwell among 



SHEPHERDS AND SINGING ANGELS 241 




Underwood and Underwood. 

Shepherds in the Fields at Bethlehem. 



242 DOING RIGHT 

us. And behold, he was a little child ! And Mary 
wrapped him warm in swaddling clothes, as the way 
is with babies, and laid him in the manger. 

There the shepherds, all out of breath with running, 
found them, — Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying 
in a manger. And they told what they had seen and 
heard about the singing angels and the King of Glory, 
while Mary listened, remembering the angel who had 
appeared to her. So the shepherds returned, glorifying 
and praising God for all the wonders of that night. 
Thus was kept the first Christmas, with carols by the 
choir of heaven, and God's own Son, the Saviour of 
the world, coming as a Christmas gift for all mankind. 

— George Hodges. 



Now lettest thou thy servant depart, Lord, 




According to thy word, in peace ; 




For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, 




Which thou hast prepared before the face of all peoples ; 


A light for revelation to the Gentiles, 




And the glory of thy people Israel. 




— Luke ii. 


29-32. 



Who were watching the sheep ? 

What were they doing while they watched ? 

What strange thing happened ? 

How did the shepherds feel ? 

What did the angel tell them ? 

Where did the shepherds go ? 

Whom did they find ? 

For whom was the King a Christmas gift ? 



THE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN 243 

THE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN 

I 

Jesus grew and grew, as other little children grow ; 
and for a good while nothing happened except just 
the ordinary things. But one day there came to the 
door some very extraordinary visitors. 

Nobody knows how old the child was when they 
came. Indeed, St. Luke, who was much interested 
in the beautiful stories of our Lord's childhood, knew 
nothing about them. But St. Matthew had heard 
about the Wise Men. One would think, to read the 
story in St. Matthew's Gospel, that our Lord was as 
much as two years old when the Wise Men came. In 
that case, it was at Bethlehem that he learned to 
walk and to talk, and began to say his prayers, and 
to learn by heart some of the holy words of the Bible. 

Meanwhile, away in the east, nobody knows where, 
men were watching the sky. They lived out of doors 
in those countries much more than we do, and the 
clouds and the stars were of great interest to them. 
They did not know that the stars were other worlds. 
They thought that they were shining jewels set in the 
blue roof of the sky. They imagined that they formed 
mysterious sentences, which one might read did he 
but know that celestial language, and thus learn the 
story of the earth, both past and future. Especially, 
they connected the great stars with the great kings ; 



244 



DOING RIGHT 




THE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN 245 

and one of their number, a magician named Balaam, 
had one day, in a vision, cried, " I see a star and a king !" 
meaning a king of the Jews. 

These men were called Wise Men. They were very 
well acquainted with the sky, and knew the stars by 
name. And one night as they gazed, according to their 
custom, at the lights overhead, behold, there was a 
new star which none of them had seen before. There 
it shone, brighter than any of the others, low down in 
the western sky. And the men said, " There is the 
star, and in that direction, towards the west, is the 
land of the Jews. There is a king born ! Let us go 
and see him." 

So they started on their long journey. Some say 
that they were as great as they were wise ; that they 
were kings ; that there were three of them, — an old 
man named Caspar, and a middle-aged man named 
Melchior, and a young man named Balthasal ; that 
they rode on camels and had a train of servants with 
them. Indeed, we may imagine whatever we please ; 
for nobody knows anything about it. 

On they came, then, over the hard, wild ways which 
lead from the east to the west, till at last they reached 
Jerusalem; and there they stopped to ask their way. 
"Where is he," they said, "that is born King of the 
Jews ? for we have seen his star in the east, and are 
come to worship him." But the people knew of only 
one king of the Jews, and his name was Herod ; and 
he had been born so long ago that even now he was 



246 DOING RIGHT 

approaching the end of his bad life. That was not 
the king for whom they were looking. No : there was 
a new king, a little child. So they went about asking 
people in the streets, and the news spread, — the news 
of the appearance of these strange visitors and of the 
strange question which they asked. People said one 
to another, "Have you seen those three dark-faced 
pilgrims out of the far east r Have you heard what 
they are saying?" And men began to be afraid. 
They said, "Now there will be war. The two kings 
will fight for the crown." 

Presently King Herod heard what was happening 
in the city, and he too was troubled. The thought 
came into his heart that this new king might perhaps 
be the King of Glory. He knew that the people were 
waiting for a king, and that promises of his coming were 
written in the Bible. Herod was not a reader of the 
Bible, and he had no idea that the King of Glory was 
to come from heaven. All that he had in his mind 
was a vague knowledge that a great king was expected, 
and a clear conviction that when the king came there 
would be no more use for Herod : and he immediately 
determined that he would find the new king, if he could, 
and kill him in his cradle. 

So he called the ministers together, and when they 
came he said, "Where is it that that king, of whom 
the Bible speaks, will be born, when he comes ?" And 
the ministers looked into the Bible, and there it was, 
written down in black and white long, long before, 



THE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN 247 

that the King of Glory should be born in Bethlehem. 
"And thou Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, art not 
the least among the princes of Judah ; for out of thee 
shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people 
Israel. ,, 

Then Herod called the Wise Men privately, and 
they came to meet him in his palace, and he asked 
them many questions. He seemed particularly anx- 
ious to find out just how long ago it was when the star 
appeared. And the Wise Men, who were better 
acquainted with stars than they were with kings, 
answered him in all simplicity. And the king said, 
"You are to go to Bethlehem. Go, and search dili- 
gently for the young child ; and when ye have found 
him, bring me word again, that I may come and wor- 
ship him also." That is what he said, — the bad king, 
who meant to kill him. 

II 

Away they went, then, out of the king's palace, and 
made their way towards Bethlehem. And as they 
went, behold, they saw the strange star, shining again 
in the night sky, as they had seen it in their own land. 
And they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. The 
star seemed to go before them, leading them, and at 
last to stand still over the little village. And under 
the star was a house ; and in the house, the King ! 

The house did not look much like a palace. Joseph 
was a carpenter, having nothing to live on but his 



248 DOING RIGHT 

daily wages. He could afford only the humblest lodg- 
ings. Neither did the child look much like a king. 
There he stood leaning against his mother's knee, look- 
ing at the strange visitors with great eyes of wonder, 
and probably more interested in the Wise Men's 
camels than he was in the Wise Men themselves. But 
the Wise Men kneeled before him and worshiped him. 
And when they had opened their treasures, — the 
queer-looking boxes and bundles which they had 
brought with them, — they presented unto him gifts, 
gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. 

That night, before the next day dawned, the Wise 
Men had a dream ; and, in the same night, Joseph 
had a dream also. In the Wise Men's dream God 
told them about Herod, and warned them not to return 
to him, but to go back to their own country another 
way. In Joseph's dream, the angel of the Lord ap- 
peared and said, " Arise and take the young child and 
his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there 
until I bring thee word : for Herod will seek the young 
child to destroy him." So the Wise Men rose up, and, 
avoiding Jerusalem, went to their homes far in the 
east. And Joseph also waked and aroused Mary, 
and they made a hasty preparation for a long journey, 
and before it was light were a good distance on the 
road which led from Bethlehem toward the south. 

And when the day came, Herod, too, opened his 
eyes, and he remembered the Wise Men and their 
errand. "This morning," he said to himself, "I shall 



THE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN 249 

know about the King." But the morning passed, 
and the afternoon also, and no word came from the 
Wise Men, and at last Herod saw that he would hear 
nothing more from them, and he was very angry. 
But he knew that Bethlehem was the place where the 
King should be born ; and he knew, according to the 
time which he had diligently inquired of the Wise Men, 
that the King could not be more than two years old ; 
so he sent men who killed all the little children in that 
village, all who were under two. And there was lamen- 
tation and weeping and great mourning in Bethlehem 
among the poor mothers and fathers. But meanwhile 
the King was on his way, all safe and sound, to Egypt. 

— George Hodges. 



Wherefore also God highly exalted him, and gave unto him 
the name which is above every name ; that in the name of 
Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven and 
things on earth and things under the earth, and that 
every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, 
to the glory of God the Father. 

— Philippians ii. 9-1 1. 



Who came to see Jesus, and why had they left their homes ? 

How did Herod feel about the new King ? 

What did he tell the Wise Men to do ? 

What gifts did they bring to Jesus ? 

What dream did the Wise Men have ? 

Tell about Joseph's dream. 

How was Jesus saved from Herod ? 




i 

r 
I 

i 



I 



S3 



A PRAYER 

Father ! teach me, day by day, 
Love's sweet lesson to obey ; 
Sweeter lessons cannot be, 
Loving Him Who first loved me. 

With a childlike heart of love, 
At Thy bidding may I move ; 
Prompt to serve and follow Thee, 
Loving Him Who first loved me. 

Teach me all Thy steps to trace, 
Strong to follow in Thy grace ; 
Learning how to love from Thee ; 
Loving Him Who first loved me. 
— J. E. Leeson. 




PART VI 



THE STORY OF A POET AND STORY WRITER 

It is a painful duty to tell the life story of one whose poetic 
genius was of the highest order, but whose life was one long pain, 
caused only by a weak will and a stubborn, untrained heart. 
We speak of one whose temperament had the warmth, the glow, 
the passion of his own southland, a character at once lovable 
and contemptible, one whose fine genius so sinks into the heart 
that our worst condemnation is tears of pity for the spirit whose 
wings are trailed in the dust and mire of irresolution. 

The family of Edgar Allan Poe was of Norman-French origin, 
the original name being LePoer. After the Conquest this family 
established itself in Ireland. The earliest member of the family 
in this country was John Poe, who emigrated from Ireland about 
one hundred and fifty years ago. It was the son of this man, 
David Poe, who made a record for himself in our Revolution 
and who became the close friend and confidant of General 
Lafayette. Of David Poe's five children only two lived to 
grow up, David, the father of Edgar, and Maria, the mother of 
Virginia Clemm, afterwards the childwife of Poe. Little is 
known of the father of the poet, except that at the age of eighteen, 
while studying law in Baltimore, he fell in love with Elizabeth 
Arnold, a beautiful actress of some ability and a woman several 
years his senior. With this woman he contracted a runaway 
marriage, and began playing with her on the stage. For this 

255 



256 DOING RIGHT 

business he was totally unfitted, so that his efforts ended in 
utter failure. Three children were born of this marriage, two 
sons and a daughter, of whom Edgar was the second. During 
our War of 1812 both parents died of consumption and within a 
few weeks of each other, leaving their three children in absolute 
want. These three children were adopted by different persons. 
Henry Poe, the eldest, was educated by his uncle living in Balti- 
more. He was a wild youth, but like his younger brother, gifted 
in the art of poetry, as certain verses which he secretly wrote 
show. Edgar was adopted by Mr. John Allan, a wealthy Scotch 
merchant of Richmond. This change, from the extreme poverty 
and wandering life of a playwright's child to the elegance of Mr. 
Allan's home, was very great, and Edgar, though young, was 
able to appreciate it. 

He at once became the petted child and heir prospective of the 
rich merchant, who, though generous to a fault to his adopted 
boy, failed to sympathize with the spirit of genius which the 
child already began to show. He needed more sympathy, 
more curbing, and less money than was given to him at this 
time. While Mr. Allan furnished abundant resources, Mrs. 
Allan lavished a wealth of affection hardly less than she could 
have bestowed upon an own child. Perhaps, had this good 
angel lived, things might have been different with Poe ; but she 
died and left him in the home of his benefactor without the 
affection which his warm nature demanded. 

Shortly after his adoption, he was taken by Mr. and Mrs. 
Allan to England and there put to school for five years near 
London. The schoolmaster, the schoolhouse, the yard with its 
high wall finished with those terrible bits of broken glass em- 
bedded in the mortar, the monotonous walks under the surly 
eye of a teacher, all lingered with Poe ; for he vividly recalls 
them in " William Wilson," one of his prose sketches. What 
was more important was his recollections of the old abbeys and 
castles of Great Britain. In his poems and tales, weird and 



THE STORY OF A POET AND STORY WRITER 257 

haunted, as most of them are, such recollections found apt 
setting. 

About 1822 the family returned to America, and the instruc- 
tion, so well begun in England, was continued for a time under 
the best private teachers, preparatory to entering the University 
of Virginia. 

During these early years the beauty and vigorous intellect 
of the boy were remarked by all with whom he came in contact. 
They especially delighted Mr. and Mrs. Allan, who were fond 
of displaying his powers of memory and recitation, in both of 
which he was a prodigy. Many a time he entertained a drawing- 
room full of people by reciting the best selections from the 
English poets. 

In school he showed a strong passion for classic poetry, but 
was averse to mathematics. There is a story that at the age 
of ten years he had a manuscript volume of poems which he 
wished published; but when Mr. Allan consulted one of the 
boy's teachers, he was discouraged, in that so much publicity 
would be bad for a boy of Edgar's age and excitability. Whether 
this is true or not, we cannot tell, but we do know that a little 
poem, " Lines to Helen," was written when he was very young, 
and that Lowell, a great critic, pronounces it the finest juvenile 
poem he has ever read. 

As the boy developed into a man his beauty and genius grew 
in proportion, and it is not remarkable that he graced, with his 
courtly manners and deference to women, the drawing-rooms of 
the best society of Richmond, than which none more polished 
has ever gathered in one of our cities. We can see him now in 
all the freshness of youth, his dark eyes filled with a light that 
was deeper than that which shone on the gayety about him. 
There was yet left that subtle, far-away look which was to pierce 
so daringly into unknown lands of spirit and ghost and ghoul; 
that was to see so tragically the shadow from that bird of evil 
omen, cast over him, never more, alas, to be lifted ! And yet 



iS& DOING RIGHT 

from out those soul-speaking eyes how slight the sign of the 
tragedy of his life ! 

In 1826 he entered the University of Virginia, which then was 
quite new, but the favorite resort of young men of wealth from 
many southern states. Here it was that he contracted the habit 
of drinking, a misfortune which all his success as a student could 
not counterbalance. In a year he was expelled, his habits of 
gaming and drinking having deeply involved him in debt, some 
of which Mr. Allan refused to pay. A rupture between the two 
followed, and Poe left his home in anger. 

Bereft of his income, he cast about for something to do. Not 
trained to the sobriety of any regular calling, it is not surprising 
that adventure should attract him. The revolution going on in 
Greece, to which cause Byron gave his money and his life, at- 
tracted Poe. He crossed the ocean and we next hear of him, not 
in Greece, assisting the cause of freedom, but in some sort of 
difficult}' with the authorities of St. Petersburg, owing to which 
he narrowly escaped Siberia. Returning home, there was a 
temporary reconciliation with Mr. Allan, and the question of 
choosing a profession was laid before the young man. The 
military was selected, and his guardian at once set about securing 
an appointment to West Point for the young aspirant. This 
was not difficult to procure, and Poe entered upon his new 
duties as if he were thoroughly in earnest; but alas, for his 
weak will ! He soon began to neglect all orders and duties, 
falling into his old habits again, so that in less than a year he 
was brought before a court-martial and " dismissed from the 
service of the United States." Again he returned to Richmond 
to a justly indignant guardian, a badly edited little volume of 
poems and the disgrace of a dismissal from West Point being all 
he had to show to a man who had forgiven and forgotten the 
faults of his erring ward. 

The home in Richmond was not what it had been. The first 
Mrs. Allan had died, and in her stead there was a younger wife 



THE STORY OF A POET AND STORY WRITER 259 

and one or two children. There were several reasons why these 
facts were unpleasant to the " cashiered cadet"; the love and 
condoning power of the first Mrs. Allan was a sore loss to Edgar 
in trying to repair the rupture between Mr. Allan and himself ; 
and these children — were they not the rightful heirs to the 
wealth which Poe had been brought up to look upon as sure to 
be his sometime? So harsh words were spoken and the young 
man left his home never again to return to it. Mr. Allan never 
could be induced to give Poe any help either during his lifetime 
or at his death. 

Poe was now thrown upon his own resources, and they were 
poor indeed ; for, though backed by a matchless intellect, they 
were imperiled by a feeble will. The record of the years here is 
very obscure ; it tells no intelligible part of the story of his life, 
and so must be passed over. 

Along in 1833 we get the next definite glimpse of Poe. A 
Baltimore paper, The Saturday Visitor, to encourage writers of 
America, offered two prizes, one for the best prose tale and one 
for the best poem. Poe submitted a poem and several of 
his prose sketches. The committee, attracted by his elegant 
penmanship, began to read the sketches and were at once inter- 
ested. They chose "The Manuscript Found in a Bottle," and 
gave Poe the prize, one hundred dollars. The poem submitted 
was "The Coliseum." It was superior to the others sent in, 
but it was deemed wiser to bestow the second prize on some one 
else, in that Poe had already gained the first. One member of 
this committee was John P. Kennedy, author of "Horse Shoe 
Robinson." When Poe presented himself to get his money, 
Kennedy was moved by his apparent poverty and became at 
once a true friend to the poet. His shoes were ragged and a 
shabby coat hid the absence of a shirt ; so a very acceptable serv- 
ice was done him when his newly made friend took him to a 
clothier, and had him fitted out in a new suit complete. More 
than this, he lecommended him to Mr. White, the editor of 



2 bo DOING RIGHT 

the Southern Literary Messenger, who gave him employment on 
his paper. Kennedy introduced him as "a very imaginative 
young fellow, a little given to the terrific." 

After leaving the home of Mr. Allan, Poe sought his aunt, 
Maria Clemm, then residing in Baltimore. She was a widow, 
and was supporting herself and only child by teaching. Her 
daughter Virginia was then a beautiful child about seven years 
of age, and Poe became at once deeply interested in her. He 
directed her studies, a great pleasure in those dark days when 
his fortunes seemed so low. This aunt, who later on became his 
mother-in-law, was through life his best friend, and after his 
death his strong defender. She was, indeed, a mother unto 
her "dear Eddie," as she always called him, and it was appro- 
priate that after eighty years of life she should be buried beside 
him for whom she lived so many years. 

At this time his reading was extensive. Campbell was his 
favorite among poets, as was Disraeli among novelists. He was 
fond of Mrs. Browning's poetry and one of the earliest to appre- 
ciate the beauties of Tennyson. Besides his reading he wrote 
much, producing rapidly bis best tales and many of his minor 
poems. 

The most prosperous time in Poe's life was now approaching. 
From being merely a monthly contributor to the Messenger, he 
became first assistant and then editor in chief of this most famous 
of southern literary periodicals. His pay was encouraging, 
though small indeed compared with what is thought right for 
similar service now. In a short time he had established a reputa- 
tion as the writer of stories perfectly unique in our literature, 
savoring strongly of the legends of the Rhine, and as a poet whose 
art was inimitable, and as a keen and merciless critic. With so 
much of prosperity attending him, he now persuaded Mrs. Clemm 
to allow him to marry Virginia. Though she was a mere child, 
the mother finally consented, and in real life we have here a 
"childwife" more ideal, more exquisite, than even the imagina- 



THE STORY OF A POET AND STORY WRITER 261 

tion of a Dickens could create for his favorite of books, "David 
Copperfield." 

She verified Poe's theory that a beautiful woman is the most 
beautiful thing in life, and, in later years, alas ! that other theory 
of his, that the saddest thing in life is when she dies. She was 
his "lost Lenore," his "Annabel Lee," his "Ligeia," his "rare 
and radiant one," whom even the angels envied, and to her he 
was devoted and true, the one unblemished spot in his life. 

On her part, she worshiped her handsome and gifted husband, 
and listened quietly as he discoursed on the beauties and power 
of literary art. 

Mrs. Clemm always lived with them, her children, and man- 
aged the household, at times most slenderly provided for. She 
it was who often wandered from publisher to publisher with a 
tale or poem, pleading that it be accepted ; for he was ill, very 
ill, and needed the money. What his illness was never passed 
her patient lips, though the initiated knew that too often it was 
the sickness that follows a fit of hard drinking. This habit 
lost him his place on the Messenger, though he never ceased to be 
interested in the periodical which had served him so well. 

The little household then flitted to New York, to Philadelphia, 
and again to New York. During his first residence in New York 
he was engaged on the Quarterly Review, which he soon quitted 
to become editor of Graham's Magazine, published in Philadel- 
phia. He was cheered by a cozy little home while in this city. 
But all could not prevent him from being entrapped by his old 
sin ; and we find him in straits so close that he wrote Dr. Griswold, 
"Can you not send me five dollars? I am sick, and Virginia is 
almost gone." 

Back again to New York he went and was engaged on the 
Mirror, the paper in which N. P. Willis was interested. Willis 
gives us a sketch of Poe at this time, which shows that in spite 
of his drinking he impressed men with his power, and was a 
character not to be despised : 



262 DOING RIGHT 

" With his pale, beautiful, and intellectual face as a reminder of 
what genius was in him, it was impossible, of course, not to 
treat him always with deferential courtesy ; and to our occasional 
request that he would not probe too deep in a criticism, or that 
he would erase a passage colored too highly with his resentments 
against society and mankind, he readily and courteously as- 
sented, far more yielding than most men, we thought, on points 
so excusably sensitive. With a prospect of taking the lead in 
another periodical, he at last voluntarily gave up his employment 
with us." 

During these years Poe's best tales had been collected into a 
volume which he pleased to call " Tales of the Arabesque and 
Grotesque." The peculiarity of these stories attracted the 
attention of the French, in whose country they became very 
popular through anonymous translations. They were attrib- 
uted to one French writer and another, until a lawsuit between 
two conflicting claimants revealed the fact that neither one 
wrote them, but that they were the work of a young writer in 
America, Edgar Allan Poe by name. This at once gave great 
popularity to everything Poe had written. 

In 18463 owing to the rapidly declining health of his wife, 
Poe took a cottage at Fordham, a few miles from the city, in 
order to avoid the heat of summer in the crowded metropolis. 
The cottage was small, only four rooms, romantically situated 
on a little hill. 

The house was surrounded by fruit trees, and there was a 
flower garden, too, to delight the poet and his wife, so like a 
delicate flower herself, so soon to wither and be no more. The 
house was furnished simply, but in harmony with a poet's 
taste. To this secluded home Mrs. Osgood and Miss Lynch 
often bent their steps, and they felt rewarded for any trouble 
it may have cost by the home picture they found. These 
friendly visits were bright episodes in a life about which the 
shades were so rapidly gathering ; for the young wife was failing 



THE STORY OF A POET AND STORY WRITER 263 




264 DOING RIGHT 

fast, and the poet himself was frequently very ill. He wandered 
about the lovely spot that was his home alone now. What 
wonder that the visions that came to him were sadder than the 
saddest thing we know, so that their echo haunts us long after 
we read the written words. 

In spite, of the kindness of friends and the toil of the poet so 
poorly paid, the little household at Fordham was often in sore 
want. Shivering with cold, she, his idol, lay wrapped in his 
greatcoat, hugging to her bosom a tortoise-shell cat in the vain 
effort to warm herself; and he sick and too poor to procure 
sufficient clothing for her bed, or a little wine to prolong the life 
he fain would have extended. And so she died, leaving him 
stupefied by a grief from which he hardly rallied for a year, and 
from which he never wholly recovered. 

The year before Poe moved to Fordham, his masterpiece, "The 
Raven," was published. Ten dollars was all he received for it. 

In the summer of 1849 Poe left Fordham for Virginia. His 
friends helped to establish him in Richmond. He seemed to 
relinquish his old habits and be on the highroad to better times. 
He had renewed his acquaintance with a good woman he had 
loved in his youth, now a widow, and was about to marry her. 
In October he started north to attend to some literary business 
in Philadelphia and to bring Mrs. Clemm to the- wedding. The 
few days that followed are full of obscurity. But it is known 
that he fell in with old companions in Baltimore, that delirium 
took possession of him, that he was painfully misused by some 
rough fellows interested in the election then going forward in the 
city, that he was found by some friends in a state of delirium 
in the back end of one of the election headquarters and taken to a 
hospital, where he was tenderly cared for. On October 7th he 
roused from unconsciousness and asked, "Where am I?" 
"Among your best friends," was the answer. After hesitating a 
few moments, he said, "My best friend would be the man who 
would blow my brains out," and in ten minutes he was dead. His 



AN AMBITIOUS YOUTH 265 

own terrible lines come involuntarily into one's mind as he 
thinks of this wretched ending to a life tragedy. 

"Out — out are the lights — out all ! 

And over each quivering form, 
The curtain, a funeral pall, 

Comes down with the rush of a storm, 
And the angels, all pallid and wan, 

Uprising, unveiling, afhrm, 
That the play is the Tragedy, 'Man/ 

And its hero the Conqueror, Worm." 

He was buried in the churchyard of Westminster Church by 
the side of his grandfather Poe, only three persons attending the 
funeral. 

— Jennie Ellis Keysor. Adapted. 



In your faith supply virtue ; and in your virtue knowledge ; 
and in your knowledge self-control. 

— II Peter i. 5-6. 



1. What happened when Poe was a child? 

2. Where was he educated ? 

3. What profession did he choose? 

4. Why was he dismissed from West Point ? 

5. What prize did he win ? 

6. Where did he find employment ? 

7. Who became his best friend? 

8. Tell about his "childwife." 

9. How did Poe 's life end? 

10. What was the cause of all his trouble? 



AN AMBITIOUS YOUTH 

From his earliest boyhood Bayard Taylor wanted to see the 
world. At first the world, to him, meant a swamp near his 
home in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, "in which," he after- 



266 DOING RIGHT 

wards wrote, "I went barelegged at morning, and out of which 
I came, when driven by hunger, with long stockings of black 
mud. If the child was missed from the house, the first thing 
that suggested itself was to climb upon a mound which over- 
looked the swamp. Somewhere among the tufts of the rushes 
... a little brown ball was to be seen. ... It was my head." 

It was a revelation when he found that the world was still 
larger than the home farm. One day he climbed out on the 
steep roof of the house, and made the dangerous ascent to the 
sharp ridge. " Unknown forests, new fields and houses, appeared 
to my triumphant view/' he said, in telling of the experience. 
"The prospect, though it did not extend more than four miles 
in any direction, was boundless. " 

As the restless boy began to read, he learned how narrow his 
conception of the world had been. When he was six he was 
once found, " lying on the floor, with a large map before him, 
upon which he was making imaginary journeys." The village 
circulating library was soon called on to satisfy his curiosity as 
to the wonderful lands beyond the sea and the men who lived 
in them. Before he was twelve the library had been exhausted, 
and he had read, in addition, the histories of Gibbon, Robertson, 
and Hume. Many books were borrowed; a few were bought 
with money earned by picking nuts. 

The longing for journeys far from home did not keep him 
from making the most of the fields and forests near at hand. In 
company with a Quaker school-teacher he took long walks, and 
thus learned many things about the trees and plants of his 
native county. When he was twelve he began to tell in poetry 
the thoughts that came to him in this study of nature. 

In 1842, when he was seventeen, he finished his school life, 
for his father, a farmer, was unable to send him to college. He 
had, however, made such good use of his opportunities that, in 
addition to the common branches, he had gained a fair mastery 
of Latin, French, and Spanish. He longed for even a single year 



AN AMBITIOUS YOUTH 



267 




Bayard Taylor. 



268, DOING RIGHT 

at an Eastern academy, where, as he wrote to his mother, board 
was only a dollar and a quarter a week, and other expenses 
were small in proportion. What appealed to him most about 
the school, however, was the custom of the students, during the 
August vacation, of traveling on foot through the mountains 
and among the lakes of Vermont and New Hampshire. 

The denial of his wish to have this experience of the world 
did not make him gloomy. "When I returned to the home- 
stead," he wrote, "I first felt the delight and refreshment of 
labor in the open air. I was then able to take the plow 
handle, and I still remember the pride I felt when my furrows 
were pronounced even and well turned." 

A poem, printed at this period in The Saturday Evening Post of 
Philadelphia, gives a glimpse of his thoughts as he looked for- 
ward to battling with the world. It began : 

" A dream ! — a fleeting dream ! 

Childhood has passed, with all its joy and song, 
And my life's frail bark, on youth's tempestuous stream 
Is swiftly borne along." 

After a vain effort to secure work as a school-teacher, he was 
apprenticed to a printer in West Chester, Pennsylvania. For a 
time the novelty of the employment attracted him ; but as the 
months passed it became burdensome to look forward to four 
years of turning the crank of a hand press, folding papers, sweep- 
ing out the office, and setting type. He made the best of his 
time, utilizing every opportunity to read books from the village 
library, or to write poetry. "I read Ovid and Racine in the 
original, Milton, Scott, Burns, and Wordsworth, as well as all 
the other American and English writers I could lay my hands 
on," he wrote later. 

He was eighteen years old when the acceptance of several 
poems by Graham 's Magazine led nim to think that he could 
venture to bring out a small volume of his own verses. Unable, 



AN AMBITIOUS YOUTH 269 

to secure a publisher on better terms, he decided to pay the cost 
himself. He had no funds to pay the modest bill demanded; 
he could not even afford the expense of the several trips to Phil- 
adelphia required to make the arrangements. The first diffi- 
culty was solved when he swallowed his pride and canvassed 
among his friends for advance subscriptions to his books ; the 
second, when he walked the round trip of sixty miles to the 
shop of his printer. 

A friend advised him to wait longer before giving a book to 
the world ; she said that the anxiety to reap immediate pecuniary 
advantage would be a hindrance to doing his best work. But 
he felt that he must have money for a trip to the West Indies, 
the first step to fulfilling his long-cherished dream of seeing the 
world. The modest volume was published in 1844. The 
author's maturer judgment of this early work is shown by the 
fact that none of the nineteen poems included in its pages were 
reprinted in later volumes. His ideal was always high; "it 
has always been my greatest care to let no line go before the 
public that could have an evil influence," he once said. 

The publication of the book made him still more restless under 
the limitations of his life in the printing office. "I felt as if I 
were sitting in an exhausted receiver, while the air which should 
nourish my spiritual life could only be found in distant lands," 
he described his sensations. Already, in his dreams, he was reach- 
ing beyond the West Indies ; nothing but Europe would satisfy 
him. A walking trip to the Catskills, taken when he was eighteen, 
had made him still more hungry for a trip beyond the sea. 

"The obstacles in the way seemed insurmountable," writes 
his biographer. "Such a journey was a far more serious under- 
taking then than now. His parents were opposed to it, he had 
two years more of his apprenticeship to serve, and neither he nor 
his friends had money. Yet he determined that take the trip 
he would, crossing the Atlantic in the cheapest way, and after- 
wards traveling on foot." 



270 DOING RIGHT 

Determination conquered the obstacles, one by one. His 
parents gave their consent, and his employers released him, for a 
consideration, from the remaining two years of his apprenticeship. 
He proposed to secure the necessary funds by writing letters to 
editors in America, who were to be persuaded to pay him in 
advance. His efforts to secure orders for them were disappoint- 
ing, just at first. "Two weeks before the day fixed for leaving 
home," he wrote, "I had secured no employment, and did not 
possess a dollar toward my outfit. I then went to Philadelphia 
and spent two or three days in calling upon all the principal 
editors and publishers of the city, but I seemed doomed to be 
unsuccessful. At last, when I was about to return home, not 
in despair, but in a state of wonder as to where my funds would 
come from (for I felt certain they would come), Mr. Patterson, 
at that time publisher of The Saturday Evening Post, offered me 
fifty dollars in advance for twelve letters." Another editor 
made him a similar offer, while a third bought a number of 
poems, so he returned home in triumph with one hundred and 
forty dollars, on which he proposed to take a two-years' trip in 
Europe ! "This seemed sufficient to carry me to the end of the 
world," he said. 

"Immediately Bayard and his cousin (who was to accompany 
him on the European trip) started on foot to Washington, a 
hundred miles, to see the member of Congress from their district, 
and obtain passports from him," writes one of the poet's biog- 
raphers. "Reaching a little village on their way thither, they 
were refused lodgings at the tavern because of the lateness of the 
hour — nine o'clock ! — and walked on till near midnight," when 
they were turned away from another tavern. "At three o'clock 
in the morning, footsore and faint, after a walk of nearly forty 
miles, they slept in a cart standing beside an old farmhouse." 

While passing through New York, Bayard cailed on Horace 
Greeley, of the New York Tribune, who promised, conditionally, 
to take a series of letters from Germany. "If the letters are 



AN AMBITIOUS YOUTH 271 

good/' he said, "you shall be paid for them; but don't write 
until you know something." 

The ocean passage was taken in the second cabin where the 
berths, made of rough planks, were right against the bales of 
cotton. Bedding and provisions were furnished by the passen- 
ger, so, though the fare was but ten dollars, the total expense 
was twenty-four dollars. After a tour on foot through Scotland 
and England, he crossed the Channel, and spent the winter in 
Heidelberg. The Alps and Italy were next visited. "Often 
he was so poor that he lived on tenpence a day. Sometimes he 
was without food for nearly two days, writing his natural and 
graphic letters when his ragged clothes were wet through, and 
his body faint from fasting." When he reached London, on his 
way back to America, he had exactly one shilling and threepence. 
"Weak from seasickness," he wrote of that experience, "hungry, 
chilled, and without a single acquaintance in the great city, my 
situation was about as hopeless as it is possible to conceive." 

"Possibly he could obtain work in a printer's shop," writes 
Mrs. Bolton. "This he tried hour after hour, and failed. Fi- 
nally he spent his last twopence for bread, and found a place to 
sleep in a third-rate chop house, among sailors and actors from 
the lower theaters. Fortunately he met an American publisher, 
who loaned him a pound. For six weeks he stayed in his humble 
quarters," and then returned to New York. "I had been abroad 
for two years," he wrote, with pardonable pride, "and had sup- 
ported myself entirely during the whole time by my literary 
correspondence. The remuneration which I received was in 
all $500, and only by continual economy and occasional self- 
denial was I able to carry out my plan." 

He had left America an unknown boy ; when he returned he 
was well known. Many clamored for the publication of his 
unique letters of travel, and an arrangement was soon made 
with a publisher by which the author was to receive one hundred 
dollars for each thousand copies sold — that is, if the book paid 



272 DOING RIGHT 

expenses. During the first year six editions of "Views Afoot" 
were called ior, and within two years several more. To the 
eighth edition a chapter was added, giving information to many 
inquirers who wished to know how to take such a trip. That 
there were those who tried to repeat Mr. Taylor's experiment in 
cheap traveling was later testified by the secretary of the German 
legation at Berlin, who said: '"Views Afoot' was the innocent 
cause of my spending various sums on indigent would-be travel- 
ers, whose imaginations had been fired by reading those charm- 
ing pages, and who had forgotten that they had not Mr. Taylor's 
brains." 

After several vain attempts to secure work in America, Mr. 
Taylor decided to buy a paper in Phcenixville, Pennsylvania, 
whose name he changed to the Pioneer. The venture did not 
prosper ; in fact, it required the savings of three laborious years 
after he discontinued the paper to pay the debts incurred during 
a single year. Another disappointment came when a wealthy 
man in Boston, who became interested in him, failed to lend him 
money to assist him in his fight for fame, as he had himself pro- 
posed doing. Young Taylor soon decided that the disappoint- 
ment was a blessing in disguise. He was still absolutely depend- 
ent on his own unaided efforts. 

The next venture was made in New York, where, by translating 
for a publisher, and teaching literature in a young ladies' school, 
he was assured of nine dollars a week. The discouragements 
were many, but he persevered, and so grew stronger. "The 
mere determination to face difficulties diminishes their number," 
he said in a letter written at this time. 

At last came the opportunity for which he had been seeking. 
Horace Greeley, "of his own unsolicited accord," as Taylor 
proudly wrote, offered him a situation as assistant editor of the 
Tribune, at a salary of twelve dollars a week. Extra work for 
other papers enabled him to increase this amount. 

After eighteen months spent in New York, the young assistant 



AN AMBITIOUS YOUTH 273 

was sent, in 1849, to California, by way of Panama, to report 
the progress of the mines and the formation of the government. 
His service of seven months was so satisfactory to Mr. Greeley, 
who was notoriously hard to please, that he wrote of one letter 
that it was "ANo. 1." 

Bright prospects were clouded, the very year of the return 
from California, by an overwhelming grief. In all his struggles 
he had been sustained by the thought of Mary Agnew, a play- 
mate in childhood, long his promised wife. During his trip 
abroad her parents had forbidden their corresponding, but on 
his return had rather unwillingly consented to an engagement. 
The determination to make a home for Mary had nerved him 
for many a battle; her beautiful letters had cheered him in 
time of discouragement, and had roused him to better things. 
But now consumption developed, and the young people were 
married only to be separated, within a few weeks, by death. 
"God help me if I lose her!" the poet cried at her bedside. 
That God did help him is shown by this prayer recorded in his 
journal, a few days after she closed her eyes : 

" Almighty Father, who knowest the burden of every heart, 
help me to bear the cruel sorrow which has fallen upon me. 
Remove the weakness and blindness of my rebellious soul, that I 
may see Thy ways more clearly, and still the outcry of my heart. 
Soften the bitterness of my grief, that I may not fail to praise 
Thee and love Thee with the same confiding spirit as of old. 
Suffer me to become all that she hoped of me, all that I believe 
I may become, if Thy blessing sanctions the labors of my life. 
Help me to be purer and better than I have been ; help me to 
toil more faithfully and zealously than I yet have toiled." 

A two-years' journey to the countries of the East was taken, 
partly to distract his' mind. The letters written from Japan 
and India increased his fame. Three books of travel grew out 
of these, and he was at once in demand as a lecturer. 

After a second journey to Europe, now under far better aus- 



2 7 4 DOING RIGHT 

pices than before, since he was famous and growing well-to-do 
through his books and his stock in the New York Tribune, he 
married in Germany. 

On his return to America, he carried out the boyhood dream, 
which he had described as "a slender wedge of hope that I might 
one day own a bit of ground, for the luxury of having it, if not 
the profit of cultivating it." '"Cedarcroft" was built on a 
two-hundred-acre farm at Kennett Square, the site of his old 
home. He took his parents and his sisters to live with him 
there. But the expense of building the home and of keeping 
up the establishment proved greater than his calculations, and 
he was once more in financial straits. Only by indefatigable 
industry was he able to pay his debts and support his loved ones. 

The years which followed were spent in writing several novels, 
and a number of volumes of poetry and travel, in lecturing, and 
in serving his country as secretary of legation at St. Petersburg 
and minister to Berlin. He was just well settled in his home in 
the German capital when, on December 19, 1878, he passed 
away, worn out by the long struggle of forty years. 

On the stone above his grave at " Cedarcroft" are carved these 
words from his own poem, "Deucalion," the first printed copy 
of which reached him just before his death : 

" For Life, whose source not here began, 
Must fill the utmost sphere of man, 
And, so expanding, lifted be 
Along the line of God's decree. 
To find in endless growth all good, — 
In endless toil, beatitude." 

— John T. Faris. 



TRUE 


FRIENDS 




Good books 


are true friends. 








Francis Bacon. 



HOME, SWEET HOME 275 

1. What was Bayard Taylor's boyhood ambition? 

2. How did he spend all his spare time? 

3. When did he begin to write poetry ? 

4. What trade did he start to learn ? 

5. Why did he leave this place ? 

6. Tell about his first trip abroad. 

7. Mention some things he did after returning to America. 

8. What lands did he visit later ? 

9. How did he serve his country in foreign lands ? 
10. What did he once say about his writing ? 



HOME, SWEET HOME 

'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! 
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. 

Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ; 

There's no place like home ! 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ; 

Oh ! give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again ; 

The birds singing gayly, that came at my call ; 

Give me them with that peace of mind, dearer than all. 

Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ; 

There's no place like home. 

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile, 
And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile ; 
Let others delight 'mid new pleasures to roam, 
But give me, oh ! give me the pleasures of home. 

Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ; 

There's no place like home. 

To thee I'll return, overburdened with care, 
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there ; 



m§ 



DOING RIGHT 




THE UNION OF THE TREES 



277 



No more from that cottage again will I roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. 

Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ; 

There's no place like home. 

— John Howard Payne. 



In my Father's house are many mansions ; if it were not so, 
I would have told you ; for I go to prepare a place for you. 

— John xiv. 2. 



THE UNION OF THE TREES 



Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, 
the first King Vessavana died, and Sakka sent a new king to reign 
in his stead. After the change, the new King Vessavana sent 
word to all trees and shrubs and bushes and plants, bidding the 
tree fairies each choose out the abode that liked them best. 
In those days the Bodhisatta had come to life as a tree fairy in a 
Sal-forest in the Himalayas. His advice to his kinsfolk in choos- 
ing their habitations was to shun trees that stood alone in the 
open, and to take up their abodes all round the abode which 
he had chosen in that Sal-forest. Hereon the wise tree fairies, 
following the Bodhisatta's advice, took up their quarters round 
his tree. But the foolish ones said: "Why should we dwell in 
the forest? let us rather seek out the haunts of men, and take 
up our abodes outside villages, towns, or capital cities. For 
fairies who dwell in such places receive the richest offerings and 
the greatest worship." So they departed to the haunts of men, 
and took up their abode in certain giant trees which grew in an 
open space. 



278 DOING RIGHT 

Now it fell out upon a day that a mighty tempest swept over 
the country. Naught did it avail the solitary trees that years 
had rooted them deep in the soil and that they were the mightiest 
trees that grew. Their branches snapped; their stems were 
broken ; and they themselves were uprooted and flung to earth 
by the tempest. But when it broke on the Sal-forest of inter- 
lacing trees, its fury was in vain ; for, attack where it might, not 
a tree could it overthrow. 

The forlorn fairies Whose dwellings were destroyed took their 
children in their arms and journeyed to the Himalayas. There 
they told their sorrows to the fairies of the Sal-forest, who in 
turn told the Bodhisatta of their sad return. "It was because 
they hearkened not to the words of wisdom, that they have been 
brought to this," said he; and he unfolded the truth in this 
stanza : 

"United, forestlike, should kinsfolk stand; 
The storm o'erthrows the solitary tree." 

So spake the Bodhisatta; and when his life was spent, he 
passed away to fare according to his deserts. 

— From "The Jataka." 



Behold, how good and how pleasant it is 
For brethren to dwell together in unity ! 

— Psalms cxxxiii. i. 



i. What command was given the tree fairies? 

2. What was the Bodhisatta's advice? 

3. How did the wise fairies heed this ? 

4. What did the foolish fairies do ? 

5. Give an account of the storm. 

6. Where did the homeless fairies go ? 

7. Quote the Bodhisatta's stanza. 

8. What lesson can we learn from this story? 



A PRAYER 279 

IF YOU WERE TOILING UP A WEARY HILL 

If you were toiling up a weary hill, 
Bearing a load beyond your strength to bear, 
Straining each nerve untiringly and still 
Stumbling and losing foothold here and there, 
And each one passing by would do so much 
As give one upward lift and go his way, 
Would not the slight reiterated touch 
Of help and kindness lighten all the day ? 

If you were breasting a keen wind which tossed 
And buffeted and chilled you as you strove, 
Till baffled and bewildered quite, you lost 
The power to see the way, and aim and move, 
And one, if only for a moment's space, 
Gave you a shelter from the bitter blast, 
Would you not find it easier to face 
The storm again when the brief rest was past ? 

— Susan Coolidge. 



Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of 
Christ. 

— Galatians vi. 2. 



A PRAYER 

Almighty Father, so fill us with Thy grace that we may live 
this day as Thy true-hearted children. Make us willing to do 
good to all men as we shall have opportunity. May we add to 
the joys of others and not to their sorrows. Make us more and 
more like Him who went about doing good, and in whose gracious 
ministry was revealed Thy love and Thy truth. Amen. 



:5o DOING RIGHT 



WORDS OF WISDOM 



A wise son maketh a glad father; 

But a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother. 

A soft answer turneth away wrath ; 

But a grievous word stirreth up anger. 

Better is a little with righteousness. 

Than great revenues with injustice. 

Pride goeth before destruction, 

And a haughty spirit before a fall. 

Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, 

Sweet to the soul, and health to the bones. 

He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, 

And he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city. 

To do righteousness and justice is more acceptable to the 

Lord than sacrifice. 
Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue 
Keepeth his soul from troubles. 

A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, 
And loving favor rather than silver and gold. 

— From the Book op Prove ze s . 



TRUTH .AND FALSEHOOD 
Hz that uttereth truth showeth tenth righteousness ; 

The lip of truth shall be established for ever; 

But a Iving tongue is but for a moment. 
Lving lbs are an abomination to the Ltri: 
But they that deal truly are his delight. 

— Fran: the Book or Proverbs. 



ROMOLA'S WAKING *8i 



ROMOLA'S WAKING 

Again Romola had fled from Florence; and this time no 
arresting voice had called her back. Again she wore the dress 
of an order of lay-sisters, the dress of coarse, gray serge tied 
around the waist with a white girdle, in which she was accus- 
tomed to slip hither and thither unnoticed and unknown on 
her errands of charity among the sick and the poor. Her long 
hair was brushed tightly from her face, bound in a great hard 
knot at the back of her head, and covered with a square of black 
silk tied kerchief fashion under her chin ; and with the cowl or 
hood of her cloak drawn over all, her disguise, to any one who 
had not lived very near her, was complete. 

She stood on the brink of the Mediterranean, just above a little 
fishing village. At the spot where she had paused there was a 
deep bend in the shore, and a small boat with a sail was moored 
there. And as Romola looked, she noticed gliding black against 
the waters that were turning golden with the level sun rays, 
another boat with one man in it, making towards the bend 
where the first and smaller boat was moored. Walking on again, 
she at length saw the man land; pull his boat ashore; and 
begin to unlade it. 

"Is that little boat also yours?" she said to the fisherman, 
who had looked up, a little startled by the tall, gray figure. It 
was his boat ; an old one, hardly seaworthy, yet worth repairing 
to any man who would buy it. Romola asked him how much 
it was worth; and then, while he was busy, thrust the price 
into a little satchel lying on the ground and containing the 
remnant of his dinner. After that, she watched him furling his 
sail, and asked him how he should set it if he wanted to go out 
to sea. Then, pacing up and down again, she waited to see 
him depart. 

At last the slow fisherman had gathered up all his movables 



282 DOING RIGHT 

and was walking away. Soon the gold was shrinking and getting 
duskier in sea and sky, and there was no living thing in sight, no 
sound but the lulling monotony of the lapping waves. In this 
sea there was no tide that would help to carry her away if she 
waited for its ebb; but Romola thought the breeze from the 
land was rising a little. She got into the boat, unfurled the sail, 
and fastened it as she had learned in that first brief lesson. She 
saw that it caught the light breeze, and this was all she cared for. 
Then she loosed the boat from its moorings, and tried to urge 
it with an oar, till she was far out from the land, till the sea 
was dark even to the west, and the stars were disclosing them- 
selves like a palpitating life over the wide heavens. Resting 
at last, she threw back her cowl, and taking off the kerchief 
underneath which confined her hair, she doubled them both 
under her head for a pillow on one of the boat's ribs. The fair 
head was still very young and could bear a hard pillow. Thus 
she lay, with the soft night air breathing on her, while she glided 
over the water, and watched the deepening quiet of the sky. 
Then she drew the cowl over her head again, and covered her face. 

Romola in her boat passed from semi-wakefulness to dreaming, 
and from dreaming into long, deep sleep, and then again from 
deep sleep into busy dreaming, till at last she felt herself stretch- 
ing out her arms. Her eyes opened, and she saw that the light 
of morning was about her. Her boat was lying still in a little 
creek ; on her right hand lay the speckless sapphire-blue of the 
Mediterranean; on her left one of those scenes which are re- 
peated again and again like a sweet rhythm, on the shores of 
that loveliest sea. 

In a deep curve of the mountains lay a breadth of green land, 
curtained by gentle tree-shadowed slopes leaning towards the 
rocky heights. Up these slopes might be seen here and there, 
gleaming between the tree tops, a pathway leading to a little 
irregular mass of building, that seemed to have clambered in a 
hasty way up the mountain side, and taken a difficult stand 



ROMOLA'S WAKING 283 

there, for the sake of showing its tall belfry as a sight of beauty 
to the scattered and clustered houses of the village below. The 
rays of the newly risen sun fell obliquely on the westward horn 
of this crescent-shaped nook: all else lay in dewy shadow. 
No sound came across the stillness; the very waters seemed 
to have curved themselves there for rest. 

The delicious sun rays fell on Romola and thrilled her gently 
like a caress. She lay motionless, hardly watching the scene; 
rather, feeling simply the presence of peace and beauty. She 
did not even think that she could rest here forever ; she only felt 
that she rested. Then she became distinctly conscious that she 
was lying in the boat, which had been bearing her over the waters 
all through the night. Instead of bringing her to death, it had 
been the gently lulling cradle of a new lif e ; and in spite of her 
evening despair, she was glad that the morning had come to her 
again, glad to think that she was resting in the familiar sunlight. 
Could she not rest here? No sound from Florence would reach 
her, — Florence whose piercing domes and towers, and walls, 
parted by a river and inclosed by the green hills, lay behind 
the golden haze. 

Romola rose from her reclining posture and sat up in the boat, 
trying to conjecture how far the boat had carried her. Why 
need she mind? This was a sheltered nook where there were 
simple villagers who would not harm her. For a little while, 
at least, she might rest and resolve on nothing. Presently, 
she would go and get some bread and milk ; and then she would 
nestle in the green quiet, and feel that there was a pause in her 
life. She turned to watch the crescent-shaped valley, that she 
might get back the soothing sense of peace and beauty which 
she had felt in her first waking. 

She had not been in this attitude of contemplation more than 
a few minutes, when across the stillness there came a piercing 
cry ; not a brief cry, but continuous and more and more intense. 
Romola felt sure it was the cry of a little child in distress that 



284 DOING RIGHT 

no one came to help. She started up and put one foot on the 
side of the boat, ready to leap on to the beach ; but she paused 
there and listened : the mother of the child must be near, the 
cry must soon cease. But it went on, and drew Romola so 
irresistibly, seeming the more piteous to her for the sense of 
peace which had preceded it, that she jumped on to the beach 
and walked many paces before she knew what direction she 
would take. 

Romola thought the cry came from some rough garden growth 
many yards on her right hand, where she saw a half -ruined 
hovel. She climbed over a low broken stone fence, and made 
her way across patches of weedy green crops, and ripe but 
neglected corn. The cry grew plainer; and, convinced that 
she was right, she hastened towards the hovel. But even in 
that hurried walk she felt an oppressive change in the air as she 
left the sea behind. Was there some taint lurking among the 
green luxuriance that had seemed such an inviting shelter from 
the heat of the coming day? She could see the opening in the 
hovel now, and the cry was darting through her like a pain. 
The next moment her foot was within the doorway; but the 
sight she beheld in the somber light arrested her with a shock of 
awe and horror. 

On the straw with which the floor was scattered lay three 
dead bodies — one of a tall man, one of a girl about eight years 
old, and one of a young woman, whose long black hair was being 
clutched and pulled by a living child — the child that was send- 
ing forth the piercing cry. Romola's experience made thought 
and action prompt. She lifted the little living, child ; and, while 
trying to soothe it, still bent to look at the bodies and see if they 
were really dead. The strongly marked type of race in their 
features, and their peculiar garb, made her conjecture that they 
were Spanish or Portuguese Jews, who had perhaps been put 
ashore, and abandoned there, by rapacious sailors, to whom 
their property remained a prey. 



ROMOLA'S WAKING 285 

"But, surely," thought Romola, "I shall find some woman 
in the village whose mother's heart will not let her refuse to 
tend this helpless child — if the real mother is indeed dead." 

Romola, kneeling, was about to lay her hand on the woman's 
heart ; but as she Kf ted the piece of yellow woolen drapery that 
lay across the bosom, she saw the purple spot which marked the 
pestilence — the plague, with which, in her visits among the 
sick and poor in Florence, she had become familiar. Then it 
struck her that if the villagers knew of this, she might have more 
difficulty than she had expected in getting help from them ; they 
would shrink from her with that child in her arms. But she 
had money to offer them ; and they would surely not refuse to 
give her some goat's milk in exchange for it. 

She set out at once towards the village, her mind filled now 
with the effort to soothe the little dark creature, and with won- 
dering how she could win some woman to be good to it. As she 
passed across a breadth of cultivated ground, she noticed with 
wonder that little patches of corn mingled with the other crops 
had been left to overripeness untouched by the sickle, and that 
golden apples and dark figs lay rotting on the weedy ground. 
There were grassy spaces within sight, but no cow, or sheep, or 
goat. The stillness began to have something fearful in it to 
Romola ; she hurried along towards the thickest cluster of houses, 
where there would be the most life to appeal to on behalf of the 
helpless life she carried in her arms. But she had picked up 
two figs, and bit little pieces from the sweet pulp with which to 
still the child. 

She entered between two lines of dwellings. It was time long 
ago that the villagers should have been stirring, but not a soul 
was in sight. The air was becoming more and more oppressive. 
There was a door open ; she looked in, and saw grim emptiness. 
And through yet another open door she saw a man lying with 
all his garments on ; his head athwart a spade handle ; and an 
earthenware cruse in his hand, as if he had fallen suddenly. 



286 DOING RIGHT 

Romola felt horror taking possession of her. She wanted to 
listen if there were any faint sound; but the child cried out 
afresh when she ceased to feed it, and the cry filled her ears. 
At last she saw a figure crawling slowly out of a house, and soon 
sinking back in a sitting posture against the wall. She hastened 
towards the figure ; it was a young woman in fevered anguish ; 
and she, too, held a pitcher in her hand. As Romola approached 
her, she did not start : the one need was too absorbing for any 
other idea to impress itself on her. 

" Water ! get me water !" she implored, with a moaning utter- 
ance. Romola stooped to take the pitcher ; and said gently in 
her ear, "You shall have water ; can you point towards the well ? " 

The hand was lifted towards the more distant end of the little 
street ; and Romola set off at once, with as much speed as she 
could use under the difficulty of carrying the pitcher as well as 
feeding the child. But the little one was getting more content, 
as the morsels of sweet pulp were repeated, and ceased to distress 
her with its cry ; so that she could give a less distracted attention 
to the objects around her. 

The well lay twenty yards or more beyond the end of the 
street ; and as Romola was approaching it her eyes were directed 
to the opposite green slope immediately below the church. High 
up, on a patch of grass between the trees, she had descried a cow 
and a couple of goats ; and she tried to trace a line of path that 
would lead her close to that cheering sight, when once she had 
done her errand to the well. Occupied in this way, she was not 
aware that she was very near the well, and that some one ap- 
proaching it on the other side had fixed a pair of astonished 
eyes upon her. 

Romola certainly presented a sight which, at that moment 
and in that place, could hardly have been seen without some 
pausing and palpitation. With her gaze fixed intently on the 
distant slope, the long fines of her thick gray garment giving a 
gliding character to her rapid walk, her hair rolling backward 



ROMOLA'S WAKING 



287 




Water ! Get Me Water 



288 DOING RIGHT 

and illuminated on the left side by the sun rays, the little olive 
baby on her right arm now looking out with jet-black eyes, she 
might well startle that youth of fifteen. 

The youth flung down his vessel in terror at sight of what he 
supposed to be a supernatural vision ; and Romola, aware now 
of some one near her, saw the black-and-white figure fly as if for 
dear life towards the slope she had just been contemplating. 
But remembering the parched sufferer, she half filled her pitcher 
quickly and hastened back. 

Entering the house to look for a small cup, she saw salt meat 
and meal ; there were no signs of want in the dwelling. With a 
nimble movement she seated the baby on the ground, and lifted 
a cup of water to the lips of the sufferer, who drank eagerly, and 
then closed her eyes and leaned her head backward, seeming to 
give herself up to the sense of relief. Presently she opened her 
eyes, and, looking at Romola, asked languidly, "Who are you?" 

"I came over the sea," said Romola. "I only came this 
morning. Are all the people dead in these houses?" 

"I think they are all ill now — all that are not dead. My 
father and my sister He dead upstairs ; and there is no one to 
bury them : and soon I shall die." 

"Not so, I hope," said Romola. "I am come to take care of 
you. I am used to the pestilence ; I am not afraid. But there 
must be some left who are not ill. I saw a youth running towards 
the mountain when I went to the well." 

"I cannot tell. When the pestilence came, a great many 
people went away, and drove off the cows and goats. Give me 
more water!" 

Romola, suspecting that if she followed the direction of the 
youth's flight, she should find some men and women who were 
still healthy and able, determined to seek them out at once, that 
she might at least win them to take care of the child, and leave 
herself free to come back and see how many living needed help, 
and how many dead needed burial. Promising the sick woman 



ROMOLA'S WAKING 289 

to come back to her, she lifted the dark bantling again, and set 
off towards the slope. 

Romola felt no burden of misery upon her now, no longing for 
death. She was thinking how she would go to the other sufferers, 
as she had gone to that fevered woman. But with the child on 
her arm, it was not so easy as usual to walk up a slope ; and it 
seemed a long while before the winding path took her near the 
cow and the goats. 

She was beginning herself to feel faint from heat, hunger, and 
thirst ; and as she reached a double turning, she paused to con- 
sider whether she would not wait near the cow, which some one 
was likely to come and milk soon, rather than toil up to the church 
before she had taken any rest. Raising her eyes to measure the 
steep distance, she saw peeping between the boughs, not more 
than five yards off, a broad round face, watching her attentively, 
and lower down the black skirt of a priest's garment, and a hand 
grasping a bucket. She stood mutely observing, and the face, 
too, remained motionless. Romola had often witnessed the 
overpowering force of dread in cases of pestilence, and she was 
cautious. 

Raising her voice in a tone of gentle pleading, she said, "I 
came over the sea. I am hungry, and so is the child. Will 
you not give us some milk ? Come down. Do not fear. Fear 
rather to deny food to the hungry when they ask you." 

A moment after, the boughs were parted, and the complete 
figure of a thickset priest, with a broad harmless face, his black 
frock much worn and soiled, stood, bucket in hand, looking at 
her timidly, and still keeping aloof as he took the path towards 
the cow in silence. 

Romola followed him, and watched him as he seated himself 
against the tethered cow ; and when he had drawn some milk, 
he nervously offered it to her in a brass cup he carried with him 
in the bucket. As Romola put the cup to the lips of the eager 
child, and afterwards drank some milk herself, the priest observed 



2 9 o DOIXG RIGHT 

her still timidly from his wooden stool ; but when Romola smiled 
at the little one sucking its own milky lips, and stretched out the 
brass cup again, saying, " Give us more*, good father/' he obeyed 
less nervously than before. 

Romola on her side was observant too ; and when the second 
supply of milk had been drunk, she looked down at the round- 
headed man, and said with mild decision : 

"Now tell me. father, how this pestilence came, and why you 
let your people die without your ministrations, and lie unburied. 
For I am come over the sea to help those who are left alive ; and 
you. too, will help them now." 

He told her the story of the pestilence; and, while he was 
telling it. the youth, who had fled before, had come peeping and 
advancing gradually, till at last he stood and watched the scene 
from behind a neighboring bush. 

Three families of Jews, twenty souls in all, had been put 
ashore many weeks ago. some of them already ill of the pestilence. 
The villagers, said the priest, had refused to give them shelter, 
otherwise than in a distant hovel, and under heaps of straw, for 
even-body was smitten with terror ; and the greater number of 
the villagers went away over the mountain, driving their few 
cattle, and earning provisions. The priest had not fled: he 
had stayed and prayed for the people ; and he had prevailed 
upon the youth Jacopo to stay with him ; but he confessed that 
a mortal terror of the plague had taken hold of him, and he had 
not dared to go down into the valley. 

''But you will fear no longer, father." said Romola. in a tone 
of encouraging authority; ''you will come down with me, and 
we will do what we can for them all. Jacopo will come with us," 
she added, motioning to the peeping lad. who came slowly from 
behind his defensive bush, as if dragged by invisible threads. 
''Come. Jacopo/' said Romola again, smiling at him, ''you will 
carry* the child for me. Your arms are strong, and I am tired." 

That was a dreadful proposal to Jacopo. and to the priest 



ROMOLA'S WAKING 291 

also ; but they were both under a peculiar influence forcing them 
to obey. The suspicion that Romola was an angel was dissi- 
pated ; but their minds were filled instead with the more effective 
sense that she was a human being whom God had sent over the 
sea to command them. 

"Now we will carry down the milk/' said Romola, "and see 
if any one wants it." 

So they went all together down the slope ; and that morning 
the sufferers saw help come to them in their despair. There 
were hardly more than a score alive in the whole valley; but 
all of these were comforted, and most were saved. 

In this way days, weeks, and months passed with Romola, 
till the men were digging and sowing again; till the women 
smiled at her as they carried their great vases on their heads to 
the well ; and the Hebrew baby was a tottering, tumbling Chris- 
tian, Benedetto by name, having been baptized in the church 
on the mountain side. But by that time she herself was suffer- 
ing from the fatigue and languor that must come after a con- 
tinuous strain on mind and body. She had taken for her dwell- 
ing one of the houses abandoned by their owners, standing a 
little aloof from the village street ; and here on a thick heap of 
clean straw — a delicious bed for those who do not dream of 
down — she felt glad to He still through most of the daylight 
hours, taken care of along with the little Benedetto by a woman 
whom the pestilence had widowed. 

Every day the priest and Jacopo and the small flock of sur- 
viving villagers paid their visit to this cottage to see the blessed 
Lady, as they in their gratitude called Romola, and to bring 
her of their best as an offering — honey, fresh cakes, eggs, and 
polenta. It was a sight they could none of them forget, a sight 
they all told of in their old age — how the sweet and saintly 
lady with her fair face, her golden hair, and her brown eyes that 
had a blessing in them, lay weary with her labors after she 
had helped them in their extremity ; and how the queer little 



292 



DOING RIGHT 



black Benedetto used to crawl about the straw by her side and 
want everything that was brought to her, and she always gave 
him a bit of what she took, and told them that if they loved her 
they must be good to Benedetto. 

Many legends were afterwards told in that valley about the 
blessed Lady who came over the sea ; but they were legends by 
which all who heard might know that in times gone by a woman 
had done beautiful loving deeds there, rescuing those who were 
ready to perish. 

— George Eliot. Adapted. 



LOVE FOR ALL 

Have love ! not love alone for one, 
But man as man thy brother call, 

And scatter, like the circling sun, 
Thy charities on all. 

— Friederich Schiller. 



Describe Romola's appearance. 

Tell about her trip in the boat. 

Where was she when she awoke ? 

What did she hear ? 

Tell of her experiences with the sick people. 



THE GOOD SAMARITAN 



And behold, a certain lawyer stood up and made trial of him, 
saying, Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life ? And he 
said unto him, What is written in the law? how readest thou? 
And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with 
all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, 
and with all thy mind ; and thy neighbor as thyself. And he 



THE HERO OF KHARTUM 293 

said unto him, Thou hast answered right : this do, and thou 
shalt live. But he, desiring to justify himself, said unto Jesus, 
And who is my neighbor? Jesus made answer and said, A 
certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho ; and he 
fell among robbers, who both stripped him and beat him, and 
departed, leaving him half dead. And by chance a certain 
priest was going down that way : and when he saw him, he 
passed by on the other side. And in like manner a Levite also, 
when he came to the place, and saw him, passed by on the other 
side. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he 
was : and when he saw him, he was moved with compassion, 
and came to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring on them' 
oil and wine ; and he set him on his own beast, and brought him 
to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow he took 
out two shillings, and gave them to the host, and said, Take 
care of him ; and whatsoever thou spendest more, I, when I 
come back again, will repay thee. Which of these three, thinkest 
thou, proved neighbor unto him that fell among the robbers ? 
And he said, He that showed mercy on him. And Jesus said 
unto him, Go, and do thou likewise. 

— Luke x. 25-37. 



THE HERO OF KHARTUM 

Charles George Gordon, the hero of Khartum, was born 
at Woolwich on the twenty-eighth day of January, in the year 
1833. He was the son of a soldier, his father being a lieutenant 
general in the Royal Artillery, and he could look back on a 
long line of fighting ancestors who came originally from the wild 
glens of the Highlands of Scotland. 

After five years at a school in Taunton, young Gordon entered 
the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich at the age of sixteen. 
Here he pursued the studies which were to fit him for the post 



294 DOING RIGHT 

of an officer in the same branch of the army as that in which his 
father had served so long. But though Gordon does not seem 
to have had any objection to becoming an officer of Engineers, 
he had no very great anxiety to become a soldier. 

In 1852 he became a Second Lieutenant of Engineers, and 
three years later was sent to the Crimea, where France and Eng- 
land were standing shoulder to shoulder against Russia. He took 
part in the famous and fearful siege of Sebastopol, and distin- 
guished himself by his coolness and daring. It was the middle 
of winter, and the sufferings of the troops from the intense cold 
were almost indescribable. Gordon writes home and tells of 
deaths from exposure, of scarcity of provisions, and unremitting 
labor, asking at one time that the recipients of his letters 
should excuse the quality of his writing, as his ink is frozen. 

After the Crimean War Gordon was engaged in the work of 
fixing the frontier between Roumania and Russia, and, later, in 
setting up a line of posts marking the southern limit of the Rus- 
sian province of Transcaucasia, meeting with people of many 
various nationalities, customs, and religions, and gaining some 
of that skill in managing men for which he was afterwards to be 
distinguished above his fellows. 

He next saw active service in China, where the forces of France 
and England were once more righting together, this time against 
the government of one of the oldest nations in the world, the 
Chinese. The war did not last long, but Gordon saw the capture 
of Peking and the burning of the beautiful summer palace of 
the Chinese Emperor, an act of wanton destruction which he 
strongly condemned. 

After the conclusion of the war the Chinese government was 
faced by the formidable rebellion of the Taipings, who had ad- 
vanced from the southern portion of the Empire, after taking 
possession of several of the most important and richest cities 
of the south. An American named Ward, who resided in Shang- 
hai, got together a force made up partly of Chinese and partly 



THE HERO OF KHARTUM 295 

of Europeans. This was equipped and supported by the Chinese 
government, and called by its leader the "Ever-victorious 
Army." 

Gordon joined the force in his capacity as engineer officer, 
and after the death of Ward was given command of the army, 
which under his generalship fully deserved its high-sounding 
title. From victory to victory the English officer led his men, 
moving rapidly from place to place, striking blow after blow, 
and finally crushing the rebellion. He took part in more than 
thirty engagements, and had to face not only a determined 
enemy, but mutiny and disaffection in his own ranks. At one 
time two thousand of the " Ever-victorious Army" deserted, 
reducing his force by two-thirds. But he was not daunted. 
A large number of Taipings had lately been made prisoners of 
war. These were promptly enrolled in Gordon's army, and made 
better soldiers than the deserters. 

It was this period of Gordon's life which gave him the name 
of Chinese Gordon. At the end of the rebellion, honors were 
heaped upon him by the Emperor. But for these he did not 
care. The money which was offered him was refused because 
the Chinese Minister had executed some of the rebel prisoners, a 
step which Gordon condemned, and regarded as a breach of 
faith. The gold medal given him by the Emperor was after- 
wards sent to the promoters of a charity in England, the in- 
scription having first been scratched out by the man who had 
won it so bravely, and who might have proudly worn it. 
Honor, not honors, he fought for, and in highest honor his 
memory is forever enshrined. 

On his return from China, he was stationed at Gravesend in 
command of the Royal Engineers, and was soon busily engaged 
in superintending the building and erection of batteries for the 
defense of the mouth of the Thames. 

His spare time was spent among the poorer inhabitants of the 
town. He taught ragged boys not only how to read and write, 



296 DOING RIGHT 

but how to become upright, useful, and honorable citizens. 
He watched their careers with continuous interest, and saw many 
of them placed in positions of usefulness and out of reach of the 
temptations of street life. He visited the sick, in their homes 
and in the hospitals, and by his practical sympathy shed light 
in many a dark place. All that he had was at the command of 
those who were less fortunate than himself. For money he 
cared as much as he did for honors, except as a means of re- 
lieving suffering and want. 

While at Constantinople, in 1S72. Gordon met with Nubar 
Pasha, the Egyptian Minister, who offered him the post of 
Governor of Equatorial Africa, under his master the Khedive of 
Egypt. Gordon accepted, and lost no time in leaving England 
and setting out to take up his dirhcult charge. His seat of gov- 
ernment was at Gondokoro. then distant from Khartum by a 
journey of about twenty-five days. A more unhealthy, desolate 
spot it would have been dirhcult to rind. 

His work as Governor was beset with difficulties of even- 
kind. But to a man of Gordon's nature clirriculties are only an 
incentive. The greatest curse of the land was not the unhealthy 
climate, but the slave traihc. The black tribes of the interior 
were frequently raided by the Arab dealers, and large numbers. 
chained together, would then be driven across the scorching 
deserts to the Red Sea ports. From here they were shipped to 
various parts of the Turkish Empire. 

Against this trarhc Gordon fought with all the energy of 
his nature. He succeeded in partly suppressing it ; but what 
was one man among the many whose ill-gotten gains depended 
upon this infamous trade? He felt his powerlessness. yet he 
did what he could. 

He gained information as to the movements of the slave- 
dealers. Many of them were intercepted on the way to the 
coast, and their captives freed. He learnt the customs and 
observed closely the lives of the Sudan natives, with the hope 



THE HERO OF KHARTUM 297 

of finding out the best way to govern them. He prevented the 
oppression of the natives by the soldiers of the Egyptian garri- 
sons, and taught the people to expect from him justice and right 
dealing. "I have a conviction that I shall do much in this 
country/' he says; and with this conviction he worked, never 
unhappy unless forced to be inactive. 

At the end of 1876 he was in England, but only for a short 
time. The first month of the new year saw him back again in 
Cairo, where he received his appointment as Governor General 
of the Sudan. Placed in this position, with his seat of govern- 
ment at Khartum, he hoped to exercise a more powerful influ- 
ence, chiefly in suppressing the slave trade. It was to be a 
battle to the death. "I have set my face to the work, and I will 
give my life to it." So he determined within himself, strong 
in his sense of the righteousness of his cause. 

Then began those wonderful journeys from one part of the 
desert to the other. Mounted on a camel, he would leave his 
suite far behind, and press forward with only one attendant, 
swooping down upon the slave centers, freeing the captives, 
threatening and dispersing the dealers, rousing them at last to 
armed rebellion, and then dealing them a decisive blow which 
broke their power for evil, at least, for a time. 

The people looked upon him as almost more than a man. His 
movements were so rapid, his arrival so unexpected, his power 
over men was so great, and above all, his personal courage was 
so unshaken, that there is little wonder that he seemed to them 
to be superhuman. In a few months he had almost entirely 
stamped out the slave trade in Darfur, which lies west of Khar- 
tum, and which was one of the busiest scenes of the inhuman 
traffic. 

Three years he carried on his work at Khartum, and then, in 
1880, he was in England once more. A brief holiday in Switzer- 
land was succeeded by a journey to India, consequent upon his 
appointment as private secretary to the Viceroy of that country. 



298 DOING RIGHT 

This post he gave up in a short time, and set out for China, where 
his achice was required by those in authority, and where his 
influence was exerted to avert an outbreak of war. 

Gordon visited Palestine in 1883. We can imagine the visit 
affording hi m a pleasure both real and deep. It was a quiet 
breathing time, a kind of preparation for the fiery trial awaiting 
him beyond the horizon of the Egyptian desert. He visited 
all those scenes which to him were so deeply sacred, hallowed 
by their association with the earthly life of the Master he had 
ever striven to serve. — Bethlehem. Jerusalem. Nazareth. Galilee, 
the Garden of Gethsemane, the Mount of Calvary. 

In September of this same year, an Egyptian army had been 
annihilated by the wild dervishes, followers of the man who had 
proclaimed himself in the Sudan as the Mahdi or Sacred Prophet 
of the Mohammedan religion. The army was partly officered 
by Englishmen who had been serving under the Khedive of 
Egypt as mi litary officials of the Sudan. 

Then, as now. there were Englishmen associated with Egyp- 
tians in the management of the Sudan. The disaster to the 
army of Hicks Pasha, as the Egyptian leader was called, was 
regarded by the English as a blow directed against themselves. 
It was determined to abandon the Sudan, after the garrisons 
had been brought in safety- down the Nile, or by the coast route 
to the Red Sea. But the followers of the Mahdi were numerous, 
and in the removal of the garrisons they would have to be reck- 
oned with. Some general was needed to superintend the with- 
drawal of the Egyptian soldiers, some one who was familiar with 
that region of Africa, and with the dangers to be faced in carry- 
ing out his work. Gordon was mentioned, asked to go. con- 
sented at once, and left London in January. 1884. to undertake 
the work in which he was destined to lay down his life. 

He reached Khartum, and at once proceeded to send away a 
portion of the garrison of that town, the wives and children of 
the soldiers being first to go. In a few weeks two thousand five 



THE HERO OF KHARTUM 299 

hundred had been sent northward. The work was hurried on, 
for Gordon feared that the Arabs might assemble and cut off 
his communication with the North. His fears were realized 
before very long. The Arabs seized Berber, which was regarded 
as the key of the Sudan, and in March the dervishes had isolated 
Khartum itself. Then began the great siege, which was to con- 
tinue till the first month of the following year, and to terminate 
so tragically. 

The Arabs hoped all the while to starve the Khartum garrison 
into surrender; consequently, their attacks, though frequent 
and annoying to Gordon and his men, were neither decisive nor 
sustained. In September Gordon determined to send down the 
swollen Nile a small steamer, which he hoped would reach 
Dongola, and once more open communication with the friends 
for whose relief he longed, and at whose inaction he never ceased 
to wonder. The boat carried papers and dispatches, and on 
board were Colonel Stewart, the French Consul from Khartum, 
and a number of soldiers. When this boat had steamed down 
the river, Gordon was the only European left in the citadel. 

The boat was intercepted by the dervishes ; Stewart was mur- 
dered along with his companions, and the valuable papers car- 
ried by the steamer fell into the hands of the Mahdi. Gordon 
did not receive this news till October, when it was sent him by 
the Mahdi himself. But the brave heart was not daunted. 
"Tell the Mahdi," he sends in answer, "it is all the same to me. 
I am here like iron." 

Meanwhile an expedition was being organized in England for 
the relief of the heroic soldier, and the force was placed under 
the command of Lord Wolseley. Would it arrive in time to save 
the man who every day paced the flat roof of the palace in 
Khartum, looking anxiously across the Nile water and the 
desert beyond, hoping to catch a glimpse of the long-delayed 
relief? 

The garrison of Khartum was becoming smaller and smaller 



300 DOING RIGHT 

through desertion to the Mahdi's camp. Gordon writes in his 
journal : 

"The buglers are bugling now 'Come to us, come to us,' to 
the Arabs. (The Egyptian Government have the French calls, 
and can converse by bugle; I do not think we have.) Last 
night a renegade Dervish bugler in the Arab ranks replied, ' Come 
to us, come to us." 3 So the weeks wore on, and the food sup- 
plies diminished rapidly, while there were no signs of the com- 
ing of the English. 

Gordon's journal written during this terrible time gives us 
an insight into the events of the siege. It shows also that the 
writer was always busy, and by no means unhappy. He evi- 
dently found relief from the strain and anxiety of waiting, in 
planning and scheming how best he could outwit his enemies, 
and keep up the drooping spirits of the half-starved defenders 
of the town. As he wrote on another occasion, "One cannot tell 
what a blessing employment is till we lose it. Like health, we 
do not notice these blessings. Inaction to me is terrible." 
And to his sister he writes: "I am quite happy, thank God, 
and, like Lawrence, I have tried to do my duty." 

The journal closed on December 14, 1SS4. It was placed on 
board a Nile steamer which was to be sent down the river, for 
Gordon expected every moment that Khartum would fall. 
The provisions were exhausted, and there were no signs of the 
Relief Expedition. "Now mark this," writes the patient heroic 
soldier: "if the expeditionary force (and I ask for no more than 
two hundred men) does not come in ten days, the town may fall." 
The journal closes with the words: "I have done my best for 
the honor of our country. Good-by." 

The Relief Expedition did not arrive within ten days, and not 
only the town but its heroic defenders also fell, victims to the 
ferocity of the Mahdi's followers. Whether the place was 
delivered into the Mahdi's hands through the treachery of some 
one within the town is not certain. But a breach was found 



THE HERO OF KHARTUM 301 

in the defenses, and on the morning of January 26, 1885, the 
Arabs effected an entrance. 

The defenders were slaughtered without mercy. The der- 
vishes numbered about fifty thousand, and they were rendered 
almost frantic by the long delay of their revenge. 

The surging mass threw itself upon the palace, overflowed 
into the lovely garden, and burst through the doors, in wild 
search for their prey; but Gordon went alone to meet them. 
As they rushed up the stairs, he came towards them and tried 
to speak to them ; but they could not or would not listen, and 
the first Arab plunged his huge spear into his body. He fell 
forward on his face, was dragged down the stairs ; many stabbed 
him with their spears, and his head was cut off and sent to the 
Mahdi. 

Two days later two steamers arrived before Khartum, to be 
received, not by the welcoming shouts of the relieved garrison 
and by their noble leader, but by the fire of hostile guns. The 
Relief Expedition was too late, and only by about fifty hours. 
So fell one of England's heroes, calm and unshaken to the last, 
looking in vain for the expected help, dying as he had lived, 
with his heart set upon the duty before him, keeping inviolate 
the honor of "our country." 

Thirteen years later Khartum was once more in the hands of 
the army of the Khedive, and the power of the Mahdi's successor, 
the Khalifa Abdullahi, was completely broken. The Sirdar 
or Commander in Chief of the Egyptian Army who accomplished 
this work was Sir Herbert, now Lord, Kitchener, who advanced 
slowly but surely southward, transporting troops and supplies 
by means of a military railway constructed by his own engineers. 
On September 2, 1898, was fought the great Battle of Omdur- 
man, which resulted in a decisive defeat of the Dervish army. 
The next day there was held on the spot where Gordon fell a 
memorial service to his memory. On January 6, 1899, the 
foundation stone of the Gordon Memorial College was laid at 



302 DOING RIGHT 

Khartum, and thus was commenced a work which will fitly 
perpetuate the memory of the "warrior of God, man's friend and 
tyrant's foe," who fell at the post of duty. 

— Selected. 



TO DO AND DIE 


Theirs not to make reply, 


Theirs not to reason why, 


Theirs but to do and die. 


— Alfred Tennyson. 



i . For what was Gordon trained ? 

2. What did he become ? 

3. How did he gain the name "Chinese" Gordon? 

4. On returning to England how did he spend his spare time? 

5. Mention some offices he held in Egypt. 

6. What did he try to overcome ? 

7. To what place was he last sent? 

8. Tell some things that happened during the siege. 

9. How did the end come to Gordon? 
10. What memorial has been built ? 



FOUR PIONEERS 

"What are you bothering yourselves with a knitting machine 
for?" asked Ari Davis, of Boston, a manufacturer of instru- 
ments ; "why don't you make a sewing machine?" His advice 
had been sought by a rich man and an inventor who had reached 
their wits'. ends in the vain attempt to produce a device for knit- 
ting woolen goods. "I wish I could, but it can't be done." 
" Oh, yes, it can," said Davis ; "I can make one myself." "Well," 
the capitalist replied, "you do it, and I'll insure you an independ- 
ent fortune." The words of Davis were uttered in a spirit of 
jest, but the novel idea found lodgment in the mind of one of 



FOUR PIONEERS 



303 




The First Sewing Machine. 



304 DOING RIGHT 

the workmen who stood by, a mere youth of twenty, who was 
thought not capable of a serious idea. 

But Elias Howe was not so rattle-headed as he seemed, and 
the more the youth reflected, the more desirable such a machine 
appeared to him. Four years passed, and with a wife and three 
children to support in a great city on a salary of nine dollars a 
week, the light-hearted boy had become a thoughtful, plodding 
man. The thought of the sewing machine haunted him night 
and day, and he finally resolved to produce one. 

After months wasted in the effort to work a needle pointed 
at both ends, with the eye in the middle, that should pass up 
and down through the cloth, suddenly the thought flashed 
through his mind that another stitch must be possible, and with 
almost insane devotion he worked night and day, until he had 
made a rough model of wood and wire that convinced him of 
ultimate success. In his mind's eye he saw his idea, but his 
own funds and those of his father, who had aided him more or 
less, were insufficient to embody it in a working machine. But 
help came from an old schoolmate, George Fisher, a coal and 
wood merchant of Cambridge. He agreed to board Elias and 
his family and furnish five hundred dollars, for which he was 
to have one half of the patent, if the machine proved to be worth 
patenting. In May, 1845, ^ e machine was completed, and in 
July Elias Howe sewed all the seams of two suits of woolen 
clothes, one for Mr. Fisher and the other for himself. The sew- 
ing outlasted the cloth. This machine, which is still preserved, 
will sew three hundred stitches a minute, and is considered more 
nearly perfect than any other prominent invention at its first 
trial. There is not one of the millions of sewing machines now 
in use that does not contain some of the essential principles of 
this first attempt. 

The perfection of the modern engine is largely due to James 
Watt, a poor, uneducated Scotch boy. who at fifteen walked the 



FOUR PIONEERS 



305 



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Watt Discovering the Power of Steam. 



Neal. 



3 o6 DOING RIGHT 

streets of London in a vain search for work. A professor in 
the Glasgow University gave him the use of a room to work in, 
and while waiting for jobs he experimented with old vials for 
steam reservoirs and hollow canes for pipes, for he could not 
bear to waste a moment. He improved Newcomen's engine by 
cutting off the steam after the piston had completed a quarter 
or a third of its stroke, and letting the steam already in the 
chamber expand and drive the piston the remaining distance. 
This saved nearly three fourths of the steam. Watt suffered 
from pinching poverty and hardships which would have dis- 
heartened ordinary men ; but he was terribly in earnest, and 
his brave wife Margaret begged him not to mind her inconven- 
ience, nor be discouraged. "If the engine will not work," she 
wrote him while struggling in London, "something else will. 
Never despair." 

"I had gone to take a walk," said Watt, "on a fine Sabbath 
afternoon, and had passed the old washing house, thinking upon 
the engine at the time, when the idea came into my head that, 
as steam is an elastic body, it would rush into a vacuum, and if a 
communication were made between the cylinder and an ex- 
hausted vessel, it would rush into it, and might be there con- 
densed without cooling the cylinder." The idea was simple, but 
in it lay the germ of the first steam engine of much practical 
value. Sir James Mackintosh placed this poor Scotch boy who 
began with only an idea "at the head of all inventors in all ages 
and all nations." 



See George Stephenson, working in the coal pits for sixpence a 
day, patching the clothes and mending the boots of his fellow- 
workmen nights, to earn a little money to attend a night school, 
giving the first money he ever earned, $150, to his blind father 
to pay his debts with. People say he is crazy; his "roaring 
steam engine will set the house on fire with its sparks" ; "smoke 
will pollute the air;" "carriage makers and coachmen will 



FOUR PIONEERS 307 

starve for want of work." For three days the committee of the 
House of Commons plies questions to him. This was one of 
them : "If a cow gets on the track of the engine traveling ten 
miles an hour, will it not be an awkward situation?" "Yes, 
very awkward, indeed, for the cow," replied Stephenson. "What 
can be more palpably absurd and ridiculous than the prospect 
held out of locomotives traveling twice as fast as horses?" 
asked a writer in the English "Quarterly Review" for March, 
1825. "We should as soon expect the people of Woolwich to 
suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of Congreve's rockets 
as to trust themselves to the mercy of such a machine, going at 
such a rate. We trust that Parliament will, in all the railways 
it may grant, limit the speed to eight or nine miles an hour, which 
we entirely agree with Mr. Sylvester is as great as can be ven- 
tured upon." This article referred to Stephenson's proposition 
to use his newly invented locomotive instead of horses on the 
Liverpool and Manchester Railroad, then in process of construc- 
tion. The company referred the matter to two leading English 
engineers, who reported that steam would be desirable only 
when used in stationary engines one and a half miles apart, 
drawing the cars by means of ropes and pulleys. But Stephen- 
son persuaded them to test his idea by offering a prize of about 
twenty-five hundred dollars for the best locomotive produced at 
a trial to take place October 6, 1829. On the eventful day, long 
waited for, thousands of spectators assembled to watch the 
competition of four engines, the "Novelty," the "Rocket," 
the "Perseverance," and the "Sanspareil." The "Persever- 
ance" could make but six miles an hour, and so was ruled out, 
as the conditions called for at least ten. The "Sanspareil" 
made an average of fourteen miles an hour, but as it burst a 
water pipe it lost its chance. The "Novelty" did splendidly, 
but also burst a pipe, and was crowded out, leaving the "Rocket" 
to carry off the honors with an average speed of fifteen miles 
an hour, the highest rate attained being twenty-nine. This was 



3o8 DOING RIGHT 

Stephenson's locomotive, and so fully vindicated his theory that 
the idea of stationary engines on a railroad was completely 
exploded. He had picked up the fixed engines which the genius 
of Watt had devised, and set them on wheels to draw men and 
merchandise, against the most direful predictions of the foremost 
engineers of his day. 

At noon, on Friday, August 4, 1807, a crowd of curious people 
might have been seen along the wharves of the Hudson River. 
They had gathered to witness what they considered a ridiculous 
failure of a "crank" who proposed to take a party of people up 
the Hudson River to Albany in what he called a steam vessel 
named the Clermont. Did anybody ever hear of such a ridic- 
ulous idea as navigating against the current up the Hudson 
in a vessel without sails? "The thing will 'bust,'" says one; 
"it will burn up," says another, and "they will all be drowned," 
exclaims a third, as he sees vast columns of black smoke shoot 
up with showers of brilliant sparks. Nobody present, in all 
probability, ever heard of a boat going by steam. It was the 
opinion of everybody that the man who had fooled away his 
money and his time on the Clermont was little better than an 
idiot, and ought to be in an insane asylum. But the passengers 
get on board, the plank is pulled in, and the steam is turned on. 
The walking beam moves slowly up and down, and the Clermont 
floats out into the river. "It can never go upstream," the 
spectators said. But it did go upstream, and the boy who in 
his youth said there is nothing impossible had scored a great 
triumph, and had given to the world the first steamboat that 
had any practical value. 

Notwithstanding that Fulton had rendered such great service 
to humanity, a service which has revolutionized the commerce 
of the world, he was looked upon by many as a public enemy. 
Critics and cynics turned up their noses when Fulton was men- 
tioned. The severity of the world's censure, ridicule, and detrac- 



FOUR PIONEERS 



309 




310 DOING RIGHT 

tion has usually been in proportion to the benefit the victim 
has conferred upon mankind. 

As the Clermont burned pine wood, dense columns of fire 
and smoke belched forth from her smoke-stack while she glided 
triumphantly up the river, and the inhabitants along the banks 
were utterly unable to account for the spectacle. They rushed 
to the shore, amazed to see a boat "on fire" go against the stream 
so rapidly with neither oars nor sails. The noise of her great 
paddle wheels increased the wonder. Sailors forsook their 
vessels, and fishermen rowed home as fast as possible to get out 
of the way of the fire monster. The Indians were as much 
frightened as their predecessors were when the first ship ap- 
proached their hunting ground on Manhattan Island. The 
owners of sailing vessels were jealous of the Clermont, and tried 
to run her down. Others whose interests were affected denied 
Fulton's claim to the invention, and brought suits against him. 
But the success of the Clermont soon led to the construction of 
other steamships all over the country. The government also 
employed Fulton to aid in building a powerful steam frigate, 
which was called Fulton the First. He also built a diving boat 
for the government for the discharge of torpedoes. By this 
time his fame had spread all over the civilized world, and when 
he died, in 1815, newspapers were marked with black lines ; the 
members of the New York Legislature wore badges of mourning ; 
and minute guns were fired as the long funeral procession passed 
to Trinity Churchyard. Very few private persons were ever 
honored with such a burial. 

— Orison Swett Marden. Adapted. 



GREAT EFFECTS 

Great effects come of industry and perseverance. 

— Francis Bacon. 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS 311 

1. Who was Elias Howe ? 

2. Tell about his invention. 

3. How did Watt become famous? 

4. How did Stephenson use Watt's ideas? 

5. Who made the first steamboat ? 

6. How did people regard this invention ? 

7. Why did these four men succeed ? 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN 
NEW ENGLAND 

The breaking waves dashed high 

On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky 

Their giant branches tossed ; 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame ; 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear ; - — 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard and the sea ; 
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 

To the anthem of the free ! 



312 



DOING RIGHT 



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THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS 313 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam ; 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared — 

This was their welcome home ! 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band ; 
Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine ? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod. 
They have left unstained what there they found — 

Freedom to worship God. 

— Felicia Hemans. 



I am Jehovah thy God, who brought thee out of the land of 
Egypt, out of the house of bondage. 

— Exodus xx. 2. 



1. What kind of night is described? 

2. Where did the Pilgrims land? 

3. What did they do as they landed ? 

4. Why did they leave their homes? 



314 DOING RIGHT 



MEN WHO LOVED NATURE 

One of the greatest painters of peasants in landscape was Jean 
Francois Millet, who was born in France in the year 1814. The 
son of a peasant, he was reared among just such scenes of rural 
France as he afterwards loved to paint. His early years were 
spent on a farm, and here he tried to draw the homely scenes about 
him, moved by that mysterious genius which marked him out 
from his fellow peasant boys. Here and there it often happens 
that some member of a family, perhaps cradled under the humble 
roof of a poor laborer, is picked out for distinction, and thence- 
forth his mission is to accomplish some great work in the service 
of humanity and for the improvement of the world. So, instead 
of becoming a farm laborer, Millet became a great painter. 
Early in life he went to Paris and began serious study. De- 
lighting as he did in scenes full of the utmost peace, he was 
forced on two occasions to flee from war, disturbed once by the 
Revolution of 1848, and moved on again, years after, by the 
guns of the Prussians. His work was not immediately success- 
ful, and when he returned from Paris to his native Normandy 
he supported himself by painting signboards ; but on his second 
visit to Paris, after many disappointments, a measure of success 
came to him. 

Millet knew his sphere and devoted himself to painting scenes 
of rustic life. It was his habit to walk the countryside, alone, 
or with some chosen friend, noting effects of light and color, 
shape and shadow. His pictures are not remarkable for brilliant 
coloring, but the treatment of light and atmosphere is very suc- 
cessful. This "Norman peasant," as he liked to call himself, 
never became wealthy, and sold for a modest sum pictures which 
afterwards grew enormously in value. The Angelus is one of 
his most famous pictures. It shows two peasants stopping their 
work in the field for a moment of prayer, in obedience to the 



MEN WHO LOVED NATURE 



3i5 




316 DOING RIGHT 

sound of a bell from the church whose spire is seen in the distance. 
This picture was sold by Millet for about six hundred dollars. 
It changed hands a few years ago for over one hundred thousand 
dollars. The Gleaners is another famous painting by Millet, 
illustrating a phase of field life in France where poor peasants, 
after the harvesters have passed, search the stubble for the 
grain that has been missed. The scene is full of pathos, and 
when the picture was exhibited it provoked a stormy discussion 
upon the condition of the French peasantry. It was such scenes 
in the life of his own people that Millet best loved to depict. 
His habits were solitary, and visitors to the artist's bungalow 
at Barbison were few. His poverty and struggles did not sour 
him, but they left him indifferent to all but his family circle 
and the art he so passionately loved. He died in 1875, not 
knowing the full value his paintings were destined to assume 
in the estimation of the world. 

Another great landscape painter of France was Jean Baptiste 
Corot, one of whose subjects, the picture known as Morning or 
The Dance of the Nymphs, we reproduce. Corot, like Millet 
and other great painters, was a member of a poor family. His 
father was a hairdresser, like Turner's, and in early life he was 
apprenticed to a draper, but in his inmost heart he resolved to 
become an artist, and he found a way to accomplish his desires. 
His father was able to make him a small allowance in the begin- 
ning, but very shortly his own work made him independent. 
Landscapes were his favorite subjects, and he sought them 
assiduously in the beautiful forest of Fontainebleau. 

Corot had a severe fight for recognition at the outset, but in 
the end he won assured fame, and honors and wealth rained 
upon him; but, although he made much money, it is stated 
that he was lavish in his generosity and gave freely to less for- 
tunate friends. He delighted in landscapes of a delicate and 
tender description. Harsh, grand, and rugged scenery did not 
appeal to him. He preferred to paint the willow rather than the 



MEN WHO LOVED NATURE 



3i7 




318 DOING RIGHT 

oak, the misty morning and the shadowed evening in preference 
to the strong noontide glare. A light haze is generally present 
in his pictures, which so softens the landscapes that they have 
been called "painted music." In the picture of Morning, we 
are shown an open space on the border of a wood, with the sun 
dispelling the morning mists and a band of nymphs gleefully 
dancing over the grass. The soft lights and shadows, which 
were Corot's delight, are very perceptible in this picture. The 
same characteristics appear in the companion picture Sunset 
— the same light of misty silver and softly molded foliage. 
Gorot dearly loved these landscapes. " After one of my excur- 
sions," he said, "I invite Nature to come and spend a few days 
with me . . . pencil in hand I hear the birds singing, the trees 
rustling in the wind ; I see the running brooks and the streams 
charged with a thousand reflections of sky and earth — nay, 
the very sun rises and sets in my studio." 

Corot was born in 1796 and died in 1875. He has been de- 
scribed as "the greatest poet and the tenderest soul of the nine- 
teenth century." He loved to paint in the open air, and the 
beauty of the scenes on which his eyes feasted through life was 
with him to the end. When he was dying he said,/' Look how 
beautiful it is! I have never seen such lovely landscapes." 
So, the artist's beautiful life closed harmoniously in some lovely 
vision. 

On the Banks of the River is a landscape by Henri Lerolle, a 
modern French painter. His .favorite studies are wide landscapes 
with a few figures, and he is renowned for his effects of evening 
light. In this picture, with its wide river and naked trees, there 
is a sense of desolation, but the two women and the baby in the 
foreground give a touch of keen human interest to the scene. 

Spring, by Anton Mauve, is another exquisitely simple land- 
scape, showing a flock of sheep feeding their way homeward in a 
quiet evening. This artist is considered the most eminent Dutch 
painter of the last century. In modern landscape painting, 



MEN WHO LOVED NATURE 319 

particularly among the Dutch and French schools, truth to 
Nature is the main pursuit of the artists. There are no sensa- 
tional effects, the color is low toned, and the lights subdued. In 
one of his poems, Longfellow tells us, "That is best which lieth 
nearest." The philosophy embodied in this line would appear 
to be the guiding principle of these modern French and Dutch 
artists. 

A Dutch painter of the seventeenth century was Meyndert 
Hobbema, who painted The Avenue, Middelhamis. He also 
was a painter of quiet woodland scenes, shadowed pools of water, 
and romantic streams with their quaint old-world mills. In the 
picture ' referred to we are struck by the long vista of the Avenue 
and the strong light from the sky. Hobbema was fond of bright 
sunny coloring, but his pictures, which now bring up to twenty 
thousand dollars each, were not valued by his contemporaries. 
English critics were first to recognize their excellence, and in 
consequence the best now belong to British collections. Poor 
Hobbema was one of that large group of unhappy geniuses who 
obtain no honor in their own generation, but whose efforts are 
warmly appreciated after death. Neglected, if not actually 
despised, it is sad to read that the disappointed artist died in 
abject poverty, at Amsterdam, in 1709, at the age of thirty-one. 

The painter of The Cornfield, John Constable, was the founder 
of the modern style of English landscape painting. He was born 
in Suffolk, in 1776, and was the son of a miller. For a time he 
worked in the mill himself, but destiny had marked him out, not 
to grind corn, but to depict, with magical skill, the fields in which 
the corn of England grew, with many another scene of rural 
life. He cared little for book learning, but his predisposition 
towards painting was early manifest. A local amateur gave 
him his first lessons, and, subsequently, at the age of twenty-four, 
he became a student at the Royal Academy. His first efforts 
were portraits and historical subjects, but he soon tired of models 
and of the imagined pageants of history. Nature was calling 



320 



DOING RIGHT 




The Cornfield. 



MEN WHO LOVED NATURE 32I 

him back to the fields of his boyhood, and he definitely took up 
landscape painting as his special province. But from the critics 
of his time he received very little encouragement. "The Lon- 
doners/' he wrote, "with all their ingenuity as artists, know 
nothing of the feelings of a country life, the essence of landscape." 
Nevertheless, Constable painted on, calmly confident that his 
works would meet with the approval of posterity. Although 
he was long misunderstood in England, his genius was enthusias- 
tically recognized in France, where his influence founded a school 
of landscape painting. His treatment of light and air was new 
and strange to the critics of his own time. He loved to paint 
England as a green England, steeped in dew and mists and rain, 
the fields and trees in summer time with the full splendor of noon- 
tide light raining down upon them. "He was a genuine painter 
of English cultivated scenery, of cornfields, and of farmsteads, and 
of the haunts of rustic humanity. His scenes teem with human 
associations. He paints canals, barges, windmills, locks. . . . 
He has told us how he loved the sound of water escaping from 
milldams; willows; old moss-covered planks and brickwork; 
slimy posts, — how with him painting was but another name for 
feeling." The Cornfield is one of his most characteristic works, 
both as to subject and treatment. It represents a field of ripe 
corn between two groups of trees, and, in the distance, a village 
church towering over the clustering cottages of the peasants, all 
under a sky of silver clouds. It is such a simple scene as met his 
gaze thousands of times about his old Suffolk home, but, to the 
eye of the painter, its familiarity could not obscure its loveliness. 
It is the mission of the painter and of the poet to perceive and 
interpret the beauty which resides in such familiar scenes, as 
Constable has done in The Cornfield, and as Goldsmith did for 
us in his pathetic poem on "Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of 
the plain." Constable's life was just as serene as one of his own 
green and pleasant landscapes. He was happy in his domestic 
circle, his circumstances were fairly affluent, and he passed his 



322 DOING RIGHT 

days in the study and interpretation of Nature, in the exercise 
of an art which he loved, and of which he was a supreme master. 
He died rather suddenly in 1837. After his death a number of 
admirers purchased his great picture, The Cornfield, and pre- 
sented it to the nation. 1 

— P. E. Qtjinn. Adapted. 



The firmament showeth his handiwork. 

— Psalm xix. 1, 



1. What painters are mentioned in this story? 

2. How did most of them start in life? 

3. What objects did they select for their pictures? 

4. Why did they paint such beautiful pictures? 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

There's a song in the air ! 

There's a star in the sky ! 

There's a mother's deep prayer 

And a baby's low cry ! 
And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing, 
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King. 

There's a tumult of joy 

O'er the wonderful birth, 

For the virgin's sweet boy 

Is the Lord of the earth. 
Ay ! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing, 
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King. 

1 From The Art-Reader, by P. E. Quinn, Elson Art Publication Company, 
publishers. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 



323 




324 DOING RIGHT 

In the light of that star 

Lie the ages impearled ; 

And that song from afar 

Has swept over the world. 
Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing 
In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King. 

We rejoice in the light, 

And we echo the song 

That comes down through the night 

From the heavenly throng. 
Ay ! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring, 
And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King ! 

— Josiah Gilbert Holland. 



We saw his star in the east, and are come to worship him. 

— Matthew ii. 2. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 



The Holy Land was in the very middle of the map. Of course, 
at that time the map was much smaller than it is at present. 
Neither North nor South America was on it; Africa hardly 
extended below the desert of Sahara ; everything was dim and 
uncertain north of the Rhine and the Danube, and east of the 
Tigris and Euphrates. 

To the east of the Holy Land lay the ancient empire of Baby- 
lonia and Assyria and Persia ; to the south lay the ancient empire 
of Egypt. These nations had ruled the world in the old time. 
To the west lay Greece and Rome, the nations of the new time. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 325 

Thus the Holy Land, between the civilization of the east and of 
the west, was between the past and the future. Also it was the 
place where Asia and Africa met, with Europe not very far away. 

This country, thus at the middle of the map, at the heart 
of the life of the world, was in three parts, Galilee in the north, 
Judea in the south, Samaria between. Jesus> who is called the 
Christ, was born in Bethlehem in the southern part, spent his 
boyhood and youth in Nazareth in the northern part, and did 
most of his wonderful deeds and spoke most of His wonderful 
words in two cities, in Capernaum of Galilee and in Jerusalem 
of Judea. 

The time is easy to remember, because we date our years 
from this year of His birth : only in the early Middle Ages, when 
this calculation was made, they did not get the figures quite 
right, and we must add three or four to the number of this present 
year in order to find exactly how long ago it was that He was 
born. 

The story begins with a tale that people told of the mysterious 
appearances of angels ; and we are thus reminded at the beginning 
that the life of Jesus was not like the lives of other good men, who 
are born, and live their helpful days, and then die, and are 
different from us only in being a little better or wiser than we 
are. He was different in another way than that ; for in Him in a 
very deep and true sense were fulfilled the old stories about the 
gods coming down and living among men. He was, indeed, a 
man, who looked and spoke and dressed like other men, and was 
tired and hungry like other people, and was put to death upon 
the cross. But He was also a man of whom St. Paul could say, 
" God was in Christ." 

Thus the record of His life begins with angels to show that He 
was different from others, as the saints in the pictures have 
haloes around their heads. 

Men said that Mary, His mother, saw an angel before He was 
born, who told her that her Son should be the Saviour of the 



326 



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The Flight into Egypt. 



Plockhorsl. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 327 

people ; and that on the night of His birth a whole chorus of 
angels appeared in the sky, singing for joy. 

It was a company of Bethlehem shepherds who told how they 
had heard the angels sing the Christmas carols when Christ 
was born. They found Him in a stable, laid in a manger for a 
cradle, because Mary and Joseph were strangers in that town, 
and every house was filled with people. There was no room 
even in the inn. Soon came visitors from far away in the east, 
who had seen a strange star in the sky, and understood that it 
meant that a King was born, and came bringing Him gifts, gold 
and frankincense and myrrh. 

Then Herod, who was the reigning king in that part of the 
country, tried to kill Him, sending soldiers with swords to find 
Him. But Joseph and Mary, being warned in a dream, had 
carried Him safely into Egypt. 

When Herod was dead, and they returned with the young 
child, they went to live in their own town of Nazareth. One 
time, when He was twelve years old, they went to Jerusalem to 
the feast of the Passover, and by accident, when they started 
to go home, He was left behind. When His parents sought Him, 
they found Him in the Temple, listening to the teachers of religion 
and asking them questions. 

After that for eighteen years we know almost nothing about 
Him. We are told that He was an obedient child, and that He 
increased in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and 
man. Because Joseph was a carpenter, we suppose that Jesus 
was a carpenter also, working at His trade. 

B 

When Jesus was thirty years of age there appeared on the 
bank of the river Jord?n a strange preacher, dressed in a camel's 
skin. His name was John, and he was called the Baptist, be- 
cause he told the people that they must be baptized. His birth, 



328 



DOING RIGHT 




Christ in the Temple. 



Hofmann. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 329 

too, had been foretold, so men said, by an angel, who announced 
that he should go before the Lord to prepare His way. He had 
lived in the wilderness, fasting and praying and making himself 
ready for his work. He had now come out to tell the people 
that the Christ was at hand. 

For the people were looking for a Deliverer. They were 
under the hard rule of Rome, and they wanted a deliverer to 
release them, as Moses had released their fathers from the hard 
rule of Egypt. But some of them wanted a deliverer who might 
release them from the hard rule of sin and sorrow, and help 
them to be good and happy. 

When John came declaring that the Deliverer was already on 
His way, the people went out in crowds to hear Him. "You 
cannot see Him," he said, "and you will not know Him if you 
do see Him, unless you put away your sins. Come now, confess 
your sins, and resolve to do better, and be baptized that the 
washing of your bodies in the river may be a symbol of the cleans- 
ing of your souls." 

In the midst of the crowds of people who gathered around 
John the Baptist, came Jesus, and was baptized. His disciples 
loved to tell how in that moment He saw a light in the sky and 
heard a voice. Certainly He knew in His heart, where the light of 
God shone most clearly and the voice of God spoke most dis- 
tinctly, that He Himself was the deliverer of whom John spoke. 

Immediately He went away into the wilderness to be alone 
and think. It was plain that this new knowledge about Himself 
must change the whole course of His life. He could no longer 
live quietly at Nazareth, making doors and windows and yokes 
for oxen. He spent a long time in the wilderness, more than a 
month, planning what to do, and how to do it. 

He decided that He would give Himself entirely to the work of 
helping the people, seeking nothing for Himself, making no' use 
of His new power and position for His own gain : He would not 
turn stones into bread to feed Himself. 



330 DOING RIGHT 

He decided that He would go about His work in the simplest 
and most quiet way, living like His neighbors, showing Himself 
to be the deliverer, not by His dress or by His ability to do deeds 
of wonder : He would not leap from the roof of the temple to be 
carried down to the people on the wings of angels. 

And He decided that He would have nothing to do with the 
kind of deliverance which might free His people from the power 
of Rome. He would not seek to possess the kingdoms of the 
world or the glory of them, but would establish a kingdom of 
righteousness and truth, a kingdom of the spirit. 

Then He came out declaring that the kingdom of God was at 
hand. He began to gather disciples about Him. One who came 
wishing to be a disciple was Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. 
But he was not willing to let it be known that he was a disciple ; 
he came in secret, and Jesus would not have him. Those whom 
He chose were plain, simple men, some of whom had been pre- 
pared by being disciples of John the Baptist. Most of them 
lived in Galilee, and got their living by catching fish and selling 
them; first Andrew and his brother Peter, then John and his 
brother James. These men were friends and partners. The 
next who came were friends of theirs, who had grown up in the 
same neighborhood. 

To such men, Christ came saying, " Follow me"; and they 
left their nets and followed Him. 

It is interesting to see that the first place to which He took 
them was a wedding. At Cana in Galilee, where one of the dis- 
ciples lived, there was a marriage to which they were all bidden. 
When the wine gave out, — wine being the common drink of 
that country, — Jesus provided more. Thus He entered into 
the pleasures of the people, and increased them. It was plain 
at once that He was quite different from John the Baptist, with 
his home in the wilderness and his camel's skin, whose only food 
was locusts and wild honey. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 33 i 



One of the first difficulties which Jesus met was on account of a 
strange power which He had. He could do wonderful things. 
He could cure the sick, and open the eyes of the blind, and make 
the lame walk. There were others who could do these things, 
— as, indeed, there are to-day, — but He could hardly help 
doing them. Wherever He went, people found Him out, and 
brought those who were diseased that He might touch them. 

But it was not to deliver people from the pains of their bodies 
that He came. His great mission was to deliver them from the 
sicknesses of their souls. He saw that there was danger of people 
following Him about, not to hear His teaching, but to see His 
miracles. He might be regarded as a doctor, not as a minister. 

One time He preached to a company of people and after the 
preaching healed a sick man. But not a word of His sermon was 
remembered, only the fact that a man with a withered arm had 
stretched it out. 

Thus after one of the days which had been filled with acts of 
healing, He rose up early the next morning before sunrise, and 
went out by Himself to pray ; and when the disciples came to 
call Him back, saying, "All the people are waiting for you," He 
would not go. "I must proclaim God's good news," He said. 
"Let us go to the next town and preach, for that is what I came 
for." So He preached, and when in the kindness of His heart, 
He healed the sick, He told them not to talk about it. And 
when they could not be silent, and crowds came to see Him, He 
went away to other places, into the quiet country. 

But His preaching brought Him into much more serious diffi- 
culties than His healing. For He said things which many people 
did not like. Even the ministers were displeased with Him. 
They had made a great number of rules for the purpose of help- 
ing men to do right, and were exceedingly particular about 
them. He thought that some of the rules were foolish, and that 



33* 



DOING RIGHT 




Christ Healing the Sick. 



Hofmann. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 333 

others were worse than foolish, and He said so plainly. He paid 
no attention to these rules. 

They were very particular about paying to the church a tenth 
part of all the fruits of their ground, even to the herbs of their 
gardens. He said that the things to be very particular about 
were matters of conduct, — judgment, mercy, and faith. 

They taught that it was right for a man to give to the church 
everything that he had. Jesus said, No, not if the man had a 
father and mother whom he ought to be supporting in their old 
age. 

They were very careful about washing their hands when they 
came in from the street, lest they had touched anything which 
might make them unclean, and they had a list of things which 
would make one unclean who touched them. They divided 
articles of food into clean and unclean : this, one might eat, 
and that, not. He said that that which goes into the mouth 
is of no account in religion, but that which comes out, meaning 
evil words, 

They were very strict about the keeping of the Sabbath day, 
with endless rules forbidding people to do this and that. He 
said that the Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the 
Sabbath. The fourth commandment forbade unnecessary work, 
but that was for the sake of rest, and was never intended to pre- 
vent men from doing good on that day, or being kind to their 
neighbors. They felt so strongly about it that when they found 
Him healing the sick on the Sabbath day, they desired to kill 
Him. 

At the heart of all this difference was the fact that with them 
religion was largely a matter of the lips and hands ; with Him it 
was a matter of the thoughts and heart. Thus they believed 
that God was pleased with the offering of sacrifices ; He believed 
that God cares much more for obedience to His commandments. 
They believed that when a commandment said, "Thou shalt not 
kill," it was kept so long as a man did not murder anybody; 



334 DOING RIGHT 

He taught that that commandment is broken by every un- 
brotherly word or thought. 

In the midst of people who were looking for a kingdom of God 
which should be like the kingdom of Rome, He held that the king- 
dom of God is a spiritual kingdom in men's hearts. It was so 
hard for them to understand that He did not mean to make His 
followers rich, or powerful, or to lead them against the Roman 
rulers, that one time they tried to make Him king. A great 
crowd of them, whom He had just wonderfully fed, tried to make 
Him their king. And when He refused, they forsook Him and 
were His disciples no longer. 

At last these differences between Him and His countrymen 
came to such a point that He had to give up His preaching in 
Galilee to save His life. It was felt that He was a dangerous 
person who was teaching people to break the law, and was an 
enemy to their religion. Churchmen came up from Jerusalem to 
try to put Him to silence. He took the twelve men whom He 
had chosen out of His disciples, and who were called apostles, 
and went away from Capernaum into parts of the country where 
there were few Jews, or none at all. 

D 

One day, while they were on this journey, He asked the 
apostles what people were saying about Him. "Whom do they 
say that lam?" The apostles answered that some said He was 
Elijah come to life again, or one of the prophets. This was be- 
cause He spoke so strongly against all manner of sin, as the 
prophets did. Then He said, "But whom say ye that I am?" 
And Peter answered for the others, "Thou art the Christ, the 
Son of the living God." But He told them to keep it secret, 
"for the hour of declaring it had not yet come." 

After that He told them that He must go to Jerusalem, and 
suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, and the chief 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 335 

priests and the scribes, — by all the leaders and teachers of the 
church, — and be put to death. They could not believe it. 
And when He added some strange words about rising from the 
dead, they could not understand what He meant. 

As they were once beside a mountain, He took three of the 
apostles and climbed up ; and there as night came, and all was 
dark and quiet under the sky, He prayed until, as they said after- 
wards, His face and even His garments seemed to shine like the 
sun, and there were mysterious appearances, as of Moses and 
Elijah, and mysterious voices out of the clouds. 

Still He went about doing good, for even in strange cities He 
could not be hid. Still He taught His disciples, and the crowds 
of listening people. He liked to tell stories, called parables, which 
His hearers would remember and think about after they had for- 
gotten His other words. Thus while He was in Galilee, He had 
told in parables what He wanted them to know about the king- 
dom of God : how it would grow slowly, like the seed, and very 
quietly like leaven, and in the face of difficulty as the grain grows 
among weeds or on stony ground, and how it was the most pre- 
cious thing in the world, like a pearl of great price. 

Now as He visited the countries north and east of the Holy 
Land, He told in parables how God desires all people to be friendly 
and brotherly and helpful to each other, like the Good Samari- 
tan, and not like the Rich Fool, who made no use of his wealth, 
except to store it away. And He told them how God our 
Father cares for us, in the parables of the lost sheep, and the 
lost silver, and the lost son. 

• In one place, they brought young children to Christ that He 
should touch them, and His disciples rebuked those who brought 
them, thinking that He would not like it. But at that He was 
much displeased ; and commanding that the children be brought 
to Him, He took them up in his arms and blessed them. 

All this time He was making His way slowly toward Jerusalem, 
and as He went, He told the apostles again that shame and 



336 



DOIXG RIGHT 




THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 



337 



suffering and death itself awaited Him there. They followed 
Him amazed and afraid. 



E 



There are accounts of two brief visits of Christ to Jerusalem 
during the time of His ministry, once to the feast of Tabernacles, 
and again to the feast of the Dedication. Each time an attempt 
was made to kill Him. Now as He was still on the east of the 
Jordan, word was brought Him that a dear friend named Lazarus 
was very sick at his home in Bethany near the Holy City. When 
Jesus proposed to go to see him, the apostles felt that the end had 
come at last. One of them, named Thomas, said, "Let us go 
that we may die with Him." But they went, and though He 
restored Lazarus, no hand was raised against Him. The hatred 
of the priests and scribes, however, was so plain that He retired 
for a little while into a quiet place, waiting for His hour to come. 

At last the time came for the feast of the Passover. On the 
Sunday before the feast Christ rode into Jerusalem, with His 
apostles and many others ; and they who were with Him sang as 
they went, "Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord." 
This frightened the priests and scribes. They feared that Jesus 
was about to begin a revolution. 

On that day or the next, He went into the temple ; and find- 
ing men there who were selling doves for the sacrifices, and chang- 
ing Roman money into Jewish for people who wished to make 
their offerings in Jewish coin, He drove them all out. And this 
frightened the priests and scribes still more. It seemed for a 
moment as if the revolution had actually begun. 

On another day, in the court of the temple, He called the scribes 
and pharisees hypocrites, and said that they were displeasing 
to God, and were the enemies instead of the friends of true 
religion. 

Accordingly, the priests and scribes held a council that they. 



33* 



DOING RIGHT 




Casting Out the Money Changers. 



Hofmann. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 339 

might make plans to put Him to death. They did not dare to 
arrest Him in public, for fear of an uprising of the people ; but 
they found one of the twelve apostles, named Judas, who prom- 
ised to bring them to Him in some quiet place. This willingness 
of Judas to betray his Master may have been for the sake of the 
money which the high priest offered to pay him, or it may have 
been that Judas had come to feel that the church was right and 
that Jesus was wrong. Possibly both motives entered into the 
deed. All that we certainly know is that he betrayed Him. 

On Thursday evening Jesus and the twelve ate the Passover 
supper in Jerusalem in a friend's house. Judas went out to get 
the priests. As they ate, Jesus took bread and blessed and brake 
it and gave it to the disciples. Then a cup of wine was blessed 
and passed about, and all tasted it. "This," He said, "is my 
body, this is my blood, which is given for you ; do this in remem- 
brance of me." Thereafter when they broke their loaves and 
shared them with each other, they thought of Jesus, whose mes- 
sage and character had been to them in deed and in truth the 
bread of life ; and when they poured the wine, they thought of 
Him who had poured out his life in unselfish service to them and 
to the world. 

Then they went out of the house, and out of the city, in the 
light of the full moon, and across the little river Kedron, to a 
garden of olive trees, called Gethsemane. It was plain to Jesus 
that His hour was come at last. He saw that that night His 
enemies would seize Him. He knew that Judas was at that 
moment leading them. Under the olive trees He prayed, ear- 
nestly asking God to deliver Him, yet saying always, "Not my 
will but thine be done." 

Then there was a gleam of torches and a sound of men's feet 
on the Kedron bridge and a crowd came, most of them servants 
from the high priest's house. They had swords and clubs in 
their hands, and Judas was leading them. They came into the 
garden, and Judas went to Jesus and kissed Him. Then they 



340 



DOING RIGHT 




Christ Before Pilate. 



Hofmann. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 341 

laid hold upon Him, and tied His hands with cords, while all the 
apostles forsook Him and fled. 

He was carried to the palace of the high priest, where priests 
and scribes were waiting, and they asked Him, "Are you the 
Christ?" He said, "I am." And they all cried out in horror. 
" He pretends to be the Christ," they said. " He asserts that He 
is the Deliverer whom we have been so long expecting. This 
man, who breaks the laws which we have made and teaches 
others to break them, and who calls us hypocrites and says that 
we are false teachers of religion, claims that He is the Christ. 
What shall we do? If we let Him go on, there will be great 
strife among the people, some taking His side, and others taking 
our side, and the result will be that the Romans will take away 
our place and nation. What shall we do ? " At last they agreed 
that the only wise thing to do was to put Him to death. 

But only the Roman governor had the right to put men to 
death. So they carried Christ to Pilate. "This man," they 
said, "is stirring up the people. He claims to be a king. Come, 
now, what will you do with Him ? As for us, we have no king 
but Caesar." But Pilate was unwilling to take action. He could 
see with his own eyes that Jesus was no such evil person as they 
said. Finally, they got a crowd together who shouted and 
shouted in the street before his palace, " Let Him be crucified ! 
let Him be crucified !" At last, fearing the mob, Pilate did as 
they demanded. He delivered Jesus to be crucified. 

Crucifixion was the Roman way of putting criminals to death. 
Instead of hanging the wrongdoer, their custom was to nail his 
hands and feet to a cross, and leave him there till he died. This 
they did to Jesus. Outside the city gate, they set up a cross, 
and nailed Him to it, by His hands and feet. " Father," He 
prayed, "forgive them, for they know not what they do." 

This was about nine o'clock in the morning. There He hung 
dying in the midst of His enemies. Not only had Judas betrayed 
Him, but even Peter had disowned Him, declaring that he did 



342 



DOIXG RIGHT 




The Crucifixion. 



flwjmmwm . 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 343 

not know Him. Once He cried, "My God, my God, why hast 
Thou forsaken me !" But the words are the beginning of one 
of the psalms, and He may have been repeating not only that 
sentence of despair, but the other sentences of faith and victory 
which follow. At last, He cried, " Father, into Thy hands I 
commend my spirit ! " And so He died. It was then about 
three o'clock, on Friday afternoon. 

His body was taken down from the cross, and laid in a tomb, 
near by, which was hewn out in the rock. And a great stone was 
rolled to the door. 



Wonderful stories were told of the days following the cruci- 
fixion. The next day, which we call Saturday, was the Jewish 
Sabbath, and according to the laws of their religion no man might 
work. They could not even prepare the body of Jesus for final 
burial. But on Sunday morning very early, before the sun was 
up, certain women, who had been His disciples, went out with 
spices and ointments to prepare the body, as their custom was. 
And they came running back in amazement and excitement to 
tell the apostles that the stone was rolled away from the door, 
and that the tomb was empty. When Peter and John, running, 
came to the tomb, they found even as the women had said. The 
body of Jesus was not there. 

That afternoon two men were going out of Jerusalem to a vil- 
lage called Emmaus, talking together about the crucifixion of 
Jesus, when a stranger overtook them. "What are you talking 
about ?" said the stranger. " Why are you so sad ? " And they 
told him. They said also that certain women of their company 
had found the tomb empty, and had seen a vision of angels who 
said that He was risen from the dead. Then the stranger began 
to show them how it was written in the Bible that Christ when 
He came must suffer and thus enter into glory. When they 
reached the house where they lived, the stranger went in with 



344 



DOING RIGHT 




Easter Morning. 



THE STORY OF THE CHRIST 34S 

them, and they all sat down to supper. And as they ate, the 
stranger cook bread and blessed and brake and gave to them. 
And their eyes were opened, and they saw that it was Christ 
Himself. And He vanished away. 

The men hurried back into the city, and found the eleven 
apostles gathered together. "Yes," cried the eleven, "the Lord 
is risen indeed and hath appeared to Simon Peter." Even as 
they spoke, Jesus appeared among them. Seeing that they 
were frightened, and that they supposed that He was a ghost, 
He showed them His hands and feet, that they might know be- 
yond all doubt that He was alive after His death. 

Again and again they saw Him, in Jerusalem and in Galilee ; 
once on a mountain, once on the shore of the lake. At last, 
after He had appeared so many times that they knew for certain 
that He had passed through death into life, He led them out to 
Bethany, and whih He blessed them, He again vanished away. 

Then they worshiped Him, and returned to Jerusalem with 
great joy, and began to proclaim among the people that Jesus 
was the Christ indeed, and that all that He had said was true, 
and that men ought to live according to His words, and that by 
His death and rising again He had opened the gate of life ever- 
lasting. Because He lives, we shall live also. 

— George Hodges. 



FOUNDING EMPIRES 

Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne and I myself have founded 
empires : but upon what do these creations of ours depend ? 
Upon force. Jesus alone founded His empire upon love ; 
and to this very day millions would die for Him. 

— Napoleon Bonaparte. 
I . 



i. Tell about Christ's birth. 
2. What did Herod wish to do? 



346 DOING RIGHT 

3. Where was his boyhood spent ? 

4. Give an account of the coming of John the Baotis* 

5. Who came to be baptized by John ? 

6. Name some of Christ's disciples. 

7. What strange power did Jesus have? 

8. What were some of His teachings? 

9. Tell the story of the Passover supper. 

10. What took place after this? 

11. What happened on Sunday morning? 

12. To whom did Christ appear after this? 



OUR MASTER 

We may not climb the heavenly steeDS 
To bring the Lord Christ down : 

In vain we search the lowest deeps, 
For Him no depths can drown. 

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 

A present help is He ; 
And faith has still its Olivet, 

And love its Galilee. 

The healing of His seamless dress 

Is by our beds of pain ; 
We touch Him in life's throng and press, 

And we are whole again. 

Through Him the first fond prayers are said 

Our lips of childhood frame, 
The last low whispers of our dead 

Are burdened w^ith His name. 

O Lord and Master of us all ! 



Whate'er our name or sign, 
We ow r n Thy sway, we hear Thy call, 
We test our lives by Thine. 

— John Greenleae Whittier. 



PART VII 



CYRUS AND HIS GRANDFATHER 

The pagans had a horror of drunkenness. There is no more 
curious example of this than the young Cyrus. He had ob- 
tained from King Astyages, his grandfather, permission to 
offer him wine at table, promising that he would acquit himself 
with as good a grace as the King's cupbearer. 

"I am pleased with you, my son," said Astyages to him on 
the morrow; "no one could serve better, only, as you wish to 
imitate Sacas, my cupbearer, why did you not taste the wine 
before you poured it out for us?" 

"Oh!" answered the young Prince with much simplicity, 
"that was because I was afraid there was poison in that liquor; 
for at the banquet you gave to the great lords of the Court, on 
your birthday, I saw clearly that Sacas had poisoned you." 

"How so?" ■ 

"Why, I perceived that as soon as a little of that liquor was 
drunk, it turned the heads of all the guests. I saw you doing 
things that you would not pardon in children, cry out at once 
without hearing one, then singing all together in the most ridicu- 
lous way ; and when one of you sang a solo, you swore, before 
you had even heard him, that he sang admirably well. Each of 
you boasted of his strength, but when you came to rise from 
table, far from being able to make a single step in advance, you 
could not even keep yourselves firm on your feet. In a word, 
you seemed to have forgotten that you were a King, and they 
that they were your subjects." 

"Tell me, then," said Astyages, "does not the same thing 
sometimes happen to your father?" 

349 



356 DOING RIGHT 

"Never," answered Cyrus; "when he has drunk, he is no 
longer thirsty, and that is all." 

— L. M. Dalton. 



Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, 
When it sparkleth in the cup, 
When it goeth down smoothly : 
At the last it biteth like a serpent, 
And stingeth like an adder. 

— Proverbs xxiii. 31-32. 



1. What did Cyrus have permission to do? 

2. What did his grandfather ask him the next day? 

3. How did Cyrus answer? 

4. Tell what happened to the men after drinking the liquor. 

5. What did the King ask Cyrus about his father? 

6. What was Cyrus's reply ? 



A TRUTH SEEKER 

In the heart of busy London, over a stable, lived James and 
Margaret Faraday, with their four little children. The father 
was a blacksmith, in feeble health, unable to work for a whole 
day at a time, a kind, good man to his household ; the mother, 
like himself, was uneducated, but neat and industrious, and de- 
voted to her family. The children learned the rudiments of 
reading, writing, and arithmetic at school, and then, of course, 
were obliged to earn their living. 

Michael, the third child, born 1791, became at thirteen years 
of age an errand-boy in a bookseller's shop. His first duty was 
to carry newspapers in the morning to customers, who read 
them for an hour or two for a trifle, a penny probably, and then 
gave them to the newsboy to be re-loaned. Often on Sunday 



A TRUTH SEEKER 



35i 



morning the patrons would say, " You must call again," forget- 
ting that the next place might be a mile away, and that the young 
boy was quite as desirous as they to go to church with his parents. 
Years after this, when he had become famous the world over, 
he said, "I always feel a tenderness for those boys, because I 
once carried newspapers myself." 

The following year, 1805, he was apprenticed to a bookseller 
for seven years, to learn the trade of binding and selling books. 
Here was hard work before him till he was twenty-one ; not a 
cheerful prospect for one who loved play as well as other boys. 
Whenever he had a spare moment, he was looking inside the books 
he was binding. Mrs. Marcet's "Conversations in Chemistry" 
delighted him; and when he was given the " Encyclopaedia 
Britannica" to bind, the article on Electricity seemed a treasure- 
house of wonders. He soon made an electrical machine, — 
not an expensive one, — simply a glass vial, and other apparatus 
of a similar kind ; and afterwards with a real cylinder. These 
cost only a few pence a week, but they gave a vast amount of 
pleasure to the blacksmith's son. 

One day he saw in a shop window a notice that a Mr. Tatum 
was to give at his own house some lectures on Natural Philosophy. 
The charge for each was twenty-five cents. No bookseller's 
apprentice would have such an amount of money to spend weekly 
as that. However, his brother Robert, three years older, himself 
a blacksmith, with some pride, perhaps, that Michael was inter- 
ested in such weighty matters, furnished the money, and a lodger 
at the home of the bookseller taught him drawing, so that he 
might be able, in taking notes, to illustrate the experiments. 
He attended the lectures, wrote them out carefully in a clear 
hand, bound them in four volumes, and dedicated them to his 
employer. 

A customer at the shop had become interested in a boy who 
cared so much for science, and took him to hear four lectures 
given by Sir Humphry Davy at the Royal Institution. This 



352 DOING RIGHT 

was an unexpected pleasure. He was beginning to sigh for some- 
thing beyond bookbinding. u 0h, if I could only help in some 
scientific work, no matter how humble !" he thought to himself. 
He says in his journal, "In my ignorance of the world, and 
simplicity of my mind, I wrote to Sir Joseph Banks, President 
of the Royal Society." No answer was ever returned to the 
request for a situation. Could the president have realized that 
some day ten thousand people would know the name of Michael 
Faraday where one knew the name of Sir Joseph Banks, probably 
he would have answered the boy's letter. 

About the time his apprenticeship ended, in 1812, he sum- 
moned courage to write directly to the great Sir Humphry Davy, 
sending the full notes he had made at that gentleman's lectures. 
Sir Humphry, possibly remembering that he, too, had been a 
poor boy, the son of a widowed milliner, wrote a polite note, 
saying that " Science was a harsh mistress, and, in a pecuniary 
point of view, but poorly rewarding those who devoted them- 
selves to her service" ; that he was going out of town, but would 
see if he could some time aid him. 

Meantime Michael was making crude galvanic experiments. 
He bought some malleable zinc, cut out seven plates, each the 
size of a halfpenny, covered these with the copper halfpennies, 
placing between them six pieces of paper soaked in a solution of 
muriate of soda, and with this simple battery, decomposed sul- 
phate of magnesia. So pleased was he that he wrote a letter to 
one of his boy friends, telling of the experiment, and adding, 
"Time is all I require. Oh, that I could purchase at a cheap 
rate some of our modern gents' spare hours, nay, days ! I think 
it would be a good bargain, both for them and for me." The 
youth had learned the first secret of success, — not to waste 
time ; not to throw it away on useless persons or useless subjects. 

He had learned another secret, that of choosing right com- 
panions. To this same young friend, Abbott, he wrote, "A 
companion cannot be a good one, unless he is morally so. I 



A TRUTH SEEKER 353 

have met a good companion in the lowest path of life, and I have 
found such as I despised in a rank far superior to mine. . . . 
I keep regular hours, and enter not intentionally into pleasures 
productive of evil." London's highest circles possessed no 
purer spirit than this young mechanic. 

Faraday now began work at his trade of bookbinding for a 
Frenchman in London, who, having no children, promised him 
the business, if he would remain with him always ; but the 
employer's temper was so hasty that the position became almost 
unbearable. The young man was growing depressed in spirits, 
when one night, just as he was preparing for bed, a loud knock 
on the door startled him. On looking out of the window, he 
espied a grand carriage, with a footman in livery, who left a 
note. This was a request from Sir Humphry Davy to see him 
in the morning. Was there, then, the possibility of a place in 
the Royal Institution? Between conflicting hopes and fears, 
he went to sleep, and in the morning hastened to see the great 
chemist. The result was an engagement at six dollars a week, 
with two rooms at the top of the house ! He was to clean the 
instruments, move them to and from the lecture room, and in 
all ways to make himself useful. Now he could say good-by 
to bookbinding ; and, though six dollars a week was not a mu- 
nificent sum, yet he could actually handle beautiful instruments, 
— not copper halfpence and bits of zinc, — and could listen to 
stimulating lectures. 

And now work began in earnest. He joined the City Phil- 
osophical Society, an association of thirty or forty persons in 
moderate circumstances, who met each Wednesday evening, 
one of their number giving a lecture. Then a half dozen friends 
came together once a week to read, criticize, and correct each 
other in pronunciation and conversation. How eagerly would 
such a young man have attended college ! He did what is in 
the power of everybody, — he educated himself. Did he not 
need recreation after the hard day's work? Every person has 



354 DOING RIGHT 

to make his choice. Faraday chose the topmost story of the 
Royal Institution, and books for companions, and immortal fame 
was the result. 

The experiments with Davy soon became absorbing, and often 
dangerous. Now they extracted sugar from beetroot; now 
they treated chloride of nitrogen, wearing masks of glass upon 
their faces, which, notwithstanding, were sometimes badly cut 
by the explosions. Seven months after this, Sir Humphry 
decided to travel upon the continent, and asked Faraday to be 
his amanuensis. This was a rare opportunity for the young 
assistant. For a year and a half they visited France, Switzer- 
land, Italy, and Germany, climbing Vesuvius, enjoying art 
galleries, and meeting the learned and famous of the age. The 
journey had its disagreeable side ; for Faraday was made more 
or less a servant by Davy and his sometimes inconsiderate wife ; 
but it had great and lasting advantages for one who had never 
been but twelve miles from London. 

His heart turned longingly back to the poor ones he had left 
behind. He wrote to his mother, " The first and last thing in my 
mind is England, home, and friends. When sick, when cold, 
when tired, the thoughts of those at home are a warm and 
refreshing balm to my heart. . . . These are the first and great- 
est sweetness in the life of man. ... I am almost contented 
except with my ignorance, which becomes more visible to me 
every day." And again, "I have several times been more than 
half decided to return hastily home : I am only restrained by 
the wish of improvement." To his sister he wrote, "Give my 
love with a kiss to mother, the first thing you do on reading this 
letter, and tell her how much I think of her." To Abbott he 
wrote something intended for his eyes only, but headed, "I do 
not wish that my mother should remain ignorant of it. I have 
no secrets from her." His heart bounded with joy at the prospect 
of meeting them again, and " enjoying the pleasure of their 
conversation, from which he had been excluded." No absorp- ' 



A TRUTH SEEKER 355 

tion in science could make him outgrow his parents and his 
humble home. 

On his return to England his salary was increased to $500 
yearly, and he was promoted to Laboratory Assistant. He was 
now twenty-four. He had noted carefully Davy's researches in 
iodine and chlorine, had seen him develop his safety lamp, 
which has proved an untold blessing to miners, had made many 
experiments from his own thinking ; and now he was to give 
his first course of six lectures before his friends in the City 
Philosophical Society, on Chemical Affinity, and kindred topics. 
He wrote them out with great care ; for whatever he did was 
well done. This year he published his first paper in the Quar- 
terly Journal of Science on caustic lime. Encouraged by the 
approving words of Sir Humphry, the following year he wrote 
six papers for the Quarterly, giving his experiments with gases 
and minerals, and gave another course of lectures before the 
Philosophical Society. To improve himself in delivering these, 
he attended lectures on oratory, taking copious notes. 

Seven years had now gone by in his apprenticeship to Science. 
He had published thirty-seven papers in the Quarterly, had 
a book ready for the press, on the alloys of steel, and had read a 
paper before the Royal Society itself, on two new compounds of 
chlorine and carbon, and a new compound of iodine, carbon, 
and hydrogen. 

About a year later he was married to Sarah Barnard, an 
intelligent and sweet-tempered girl, the daughter of a silversmith. 

And now came twenty years in science that made Faraday the 
wonder and ornament of his age. Elected an F.R.S., 1 he be- 
gan at once twelve lectures in Chemical Manipulation before 
the London Institution, six on Chemical Philosophy before the 
Royal Society, published six papers on electromagnetism, and 
began a course of juvenile lectures which continued for nineteen 
years. This was one of the beautiful things of Faraday's life, 

1 Fellow Royal Society. 



356 



DOING RIGHT 




Michael Faraday. 



A TRUTH SEEKER 357 

— a great man living in a whirl of work, yet taking time to make 
science plain to the young. When asked at what age he would 
teach science, he replied that he had never found a child too 
young to understand him. For twenty years he lectured at 
the Royal Academy at Woolwich, became scientific adviser to 
the government with regard to lighthouses and buoys, not for 
gain, but for the public good, drew all London to his eloquent 
lectures with his brilliant experiments, Prince Albert attending 
with his sons ; and published one hundred and fifty-eight scien- 
tific essays and thirty series of " Experimental Researches in 
Electricity," which latter, says Dr. Gladstone, "form one of 
the most marvelous monuments of intellectual work ; one of the 
rarest treasure-houses of newly-discovered knowledge, with 
which the world has ever been enriched. " 

He not only gathered into his vast brain what other men had 
learned of science, but he tested every step to prove the facts, 
and became, says Professor Tyndall, " the greatest experimental 
philosopher the world has ever seen." He loved science. When 
he lectured, there was a "gleaming in his eyes which no painter 
could copy, and which no poet could describe. His audience 
took fire with him, and every face was flushed." 

After eighteen years of study, Faraday made the great dis- 
covery of magneto-electricity, — that magnets will produce 
electricity. At once magneto-electric machines were made for 
generating electricity for the electric light, electroplating, etc. 
This discovery, says Professor Tyndall, " is the greatest experi- 
mental result ever attained by an investigator, the Mont Blanc of 
Faraday's achievements." 

Soon after he made another great discovery, that of electric 
induction, or that one electric current will induce another cur- 
rent in an adjoining wire. Others had suspected this, but had 
sought in vain to prove it. The Bell telephone, which Sir Wil- 
liam Thompson calls " the wonder of wonders," depends upon 
this principle. 



358 DOING RIGHT 

The world meantime had showered honors upon the great 
scientist. Great Britain had made him her idol. The Cam- 
bridge Philosophical Society, the institutions of Civil Engineers, 
of British Architects, of Philosophy and of Medicine, and the 
leading associations of Scotland had made him an honorary 
member. Paris had elected him corresponding member of all 
her great societies. St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Stockholm, 
Berlin, Palermo, Modena, Lisbon, Heidelberg, Frankfort, and 
our own Boston and Philadelphia had sent tokens of admira- 
tion. Eminent men from all the world came to see him. 

He was now forty-nine. The overtaxed brain refused to work 
longer. Memory was losing her grasp, and but for the sweet 
and careful presence of Sarah Faraday, the life work would 
doubtless have been finished at this time. She took him to 
Switzerland, where he walked beside the lakes and over the moun- 
tains with " my companion, dear wife, and partner in all things." 
For four years he made scarcely any experiments in original 
research, and then the tired brain seemed to regain its wonted 
power, and go on to other discoveries. 

He was always at work. He. entered the laboratory in the 
morning, and often worked till eleven at night, hardly stopping 
for his meals. He seldom went into society, for time was too 
precious. If he needed a change, he read aloud Shakespeare, 
Byron, or Macaulay to his wife in the evening, or corresponded 
with Herschel, Humboldt, and other great men. In the midst 
of exhausting labors he often preached on the Sabbath, believ- 
ing more earnestly in the word of God the more he studied 
science. 

When he was sixty-four the great brain began to show signs 
of decline. Belgium, Munich, Vienna, Madrid, Rome, Naples, 
Turin, Rotterdam, Upsala, Lombardy, and Moscow had sent him 
medals, or made him a member of their famous societies. Napo- 
leon III made him commander of the Legion of Honor, a rare 
title ; and the French exhibition awarded him the grand medal 



A TRUTH SEEKER 359 

of honor. The Queen asked him to dine with her at Windsor 
Castle, and, at the request of Prince Albert, her husband, she 
presented him with a lovely home at Hampton Court. 

At seventy-one he wrote to Mrs. Faraday from Glasgow, 
" My head is full, and my heart also ; but my recollection rapidly 
fails. You will have to resume your old function of being a 
pillow to my mind, and a rest, — a happy-making wife." Still 
he continued to make able reports to the government, on light- 
houses, electric machines, steam engines, and the like. 

And then for two years the memory grew weaker, the body 
feebler, and he was, as he told a friend, " just waiting." He died 
in his chair in his study, August 25, 1867, and was buried in 
Highgate Cemetery. Westminster Abbey would have opened 
her doors to him, but he requested to be buried " in the simplest 
earthly place, with a gravestone of the most ordinary kind." 
On a plain marble slab in the midst of clustering ivy are his 
name and the dates of his birth and death. One feels a strange 
tenderness of heart as he stands beside this sacred spot where 
rests one who, though elected to seventy societies, and offered 
nearly one hundred titles and tokens of honor, said he " would 
remain plain Michael Faraday to the last." 

Wonderful man ! great in mind, noble in heart, and gentle in 
manner, having brought a strong nature under the most com- 
plete discipline. His energy, his devotion to a single object, his 
untiring work, his love of truth, and his beautiful character 
carried the blacksmith's son to the highest success. 

— Sarah K. Bolton. Adapted. 



LOVE 


OF 


TRUTH 




Love of truth will bless the lover 


all his days. 






— Theodore Parker. 



360 DOING RIGHT 

i. Tell about Michael Faraday's home and parents. 

2. Where did he go to work? 

3. What trade did he learn? 

4. How did he become interested in Nature? 

5. What scientist took an interest in him? 

6. To what did this lead? 

7. Mention some discoveries he made. 

8. What was his attitude toward the Bible? 

9. What were his characteristics? 



THE LOVE OF HOME 

It did not happen to me to be born in a log cabin; but my 
elder brothers and sisters were born in a log cabin, raised among 
the snowdrifts of New Hampshire, at a period so early, that 
when the smoke first rose from its rude chimney, and curled over 
the frozen hills, there was no similar evidence of a white man's 
habitation between it and the settlements on the rivers of 
Canada. 

Its remains still exist; I make it an annual visit. I carry 
my children to it, to teach them the hardships endured by the 
generations which have gone before them. I love to dwell on 
the tender recollections, the kindred ties, the early affections, 
and the touching narratives and incidents, which mingle with 
all I know of this primitive family abode. 

I weep to think that none of those who inhabited it are now 
among the living ; and if ever I am ashamed of it, or if ever I 
fail in affectionate veneration for him who reared it, and defended 
it against savage violence and destruction, cherished all the 
domestic virtues beneath its roof, and, through the fire and blood 
of a seven years' revolutionary war, shrank from no danger, no 
toil, no sacrifice, to serve his country, and to raise his children 
to a condition better than his own, may my name and the name 
of my posterity be blotted forever from the memory of mankind. 

— Daniel Webster. 



"LADDERS TO HEAVEN" 361 



Hearken unto thy father that begat thee, and despise not 
thy mother when she is old. 

— Proverbs xxiii. 22. 



1. Who wrote this selection ? 

2. Who was Daniel Webster? 

3. Describe the old home. 

4. How did he show his love for this home ? 



"LADDERS TO HEAVEN" 

There was a certain valley in which the grass was very green, 
for it was watered by a stream which never failed ; and once 
upon a time certain pious men withdrew from the wide world 
and from their separate homes, and made a home in common, 
and a little world for themselves, in the valley where the grass 
was green. 

The world outside, in those days, was very rough and full of 
wars ; but the little world in the Green Valley was quiet and full 
of peace. And most of these men who had taken each other for 
brothers, and had made one home there, were happy, and being 
good deserved to be so. And some of them were good with the 
ignorant innocence of children, and there were others who, 
after sinning, had repented, and were now good and true, full of 
the spirit of Christ. 

Brother Benedict was so named because where he came 
blessings followed. This was said of him, from a child, when the 
babies stopped crying if he ran up to them, and when on the 
darkest days old women could see sunbeams playing in his hair. 
He had always been fond of flowers, and as there were not many 
things in the Brotherhood of the Green Valley on which a man 
could full-spend his energies, when prayers were said, and duties 



362 DOING RIGHT 

done, Brother Benedict spent the balance of his upon the garden. 
And he grew herbs for healing, and plants that were good for 
food, and flowers that were only pleasant to the eyes ; and where 
he sowed he reaped, and what he planted prospered, as if bless- 
ings followed him. 

In time the fame of his flowers spread beyond the valley, and 
people from the world outside sent to beg plants and seeds of 
him, and sent him others in return. He kept a roll of the plants 
that he possessed, and the list grew longer with every Autumn 
and every Spring ; so that the garden of the monastery became 
filled with rare and curious things, in which Brother Benedict 
took great pride. 

The day came when he thought that he took too much pride. 
For he said, "The cares of the garden are, after all, cares of this 
world, and I have set my affections upon things of the earth." 
At last it so troubled him that he obtained leave to make a 
pilgrimage to the cell of an old hermit, whose wisdom was much 
esteemed, and to him he told his fears. 

But when Brother Benedict had ended his tale, the old man 
said, "Go in peace. What a man labors for he must love, if 
he be made in the image of his Maker ; for He rejoices in the 
works of His hands." 

So Brother Benedict returned, and his conscience was at ease 
till the Autumn, when a certain abbot, who spent much care and 
pains upon his garden, was on a journey, and rested at the Mon- 
astery of the Green Valley. It appeared that he had more 
things in his garden than Brother Benedict, for the abbey was 
very rich, and he had collected far and near. Brother Benedict 
was jealous for the garden of the monastery, and then he was 
wroth with himself for his jealousy ; and when the abbot had 
gone he obtained leave, and made a pilgrimage to the cell of the 
hermit and told him all. The old man, looking at him, loved 
him, and said : 

"My son, a man may bind his soul with fine-drawn strands 



"LADDERS TO HEAVEN" 363 

till it is either entangled in a web or breaks all bonds. Gird 
thyself with one strong line, and let little things go by." 

And Benedict said, "With which line?" 

And the hermit answered, "What said Augustine? 'Love, 
and do what thou wilt.' If therefore thy labors and thy pride 
be for others, and not for thyself, have no fear. He who lives 
for God and for his neighbors may forget his own soul in safety, 
and shall find it hereafter ; for such a spirit, of the toils and pains 
and pleasures of this life, grace shall alike build Ladders unto 
Heaven." 

Then Benedict bowed his head, and departed. When he 
reached home he found a messenger who had ridden for many 
days, and who brought him a bundle of roots, and a written 
message, which ran thus : 

"These roots, though common with us, are unknown where 
thou dwellest. It is a lily, as white and as fragrant as the Lily 
of the Annunciation, but much smaller. Beautiful as it is, it is 
hardy, and if planted in a damp spot and left strictly undisturbed 
it will spread and flourish like a weed. It hath a rare and deli- 
cate perfume, and having white bells on many footstalks up the 
stem, one above the other, as the angels stood in Jacob's dream, 
the common children call it Ladders to Heaven." 

When Brother Benedict read the first part of the letter he 
laughed hastily, and said, "The abbot hath no such lily." But 
when he had finished it, he said, " God rid my soul of self-seeking ! 
The common children shall have them, and not I." 

Seizing the plants and a spade, he ran out beyond the bounds 
of the monastery, and down into a little copse where the earth 
was kept damp by the waters of the stream which never failed. 
There he planted the roots, and as he turned to go away he said, 
"The blessing of our Maker rest on thee ! Give joy of thy love- 
liness, and pleasure of thy perfume, to others when I am gone ! 
And let him who enjoys remember the soul of him who planted 
thee." 



364 DOING RIGHT 

Then he covered his face with his hands, and went back to 
the monastery. And he did not enter the new plant upon his 
roll, for he had no such lily in his garden. 



Brother Benedict's soul had long departed, when in times of 
turbulence and change, the monastery was destroyed; and 
between fire and plunder and reckless destruction everything 
perished, and even the garden was laid waste. But no one 
touched the Lilies of the Valley in the copse below, for they were 
so common that they were looked upon as weeds. Though 
nothing remained of the brotherhood but old tales, these lin- 
gered, and were handed on ; and when the children played with 
the lilies and bickered over them, crying, "My ladder has twelve 
white angels and yours has only eight," they would often call 
them Brother Benedict's flowers, adding, "but the real right 
name of them is Ladders to Heaven." 

After a time a new race came into the Green Valley and filled 
it ; and the stream which never failed turned many wheels, and 
trades were brisk, and they were what are called black trades. 
Men made money soon, and spent it soon, and died soon ; and 
in the time between each lived for himself, and had little rever- 
ence for those who were gone, and less concern for those who 
should come after. At first they were too busy to care for what 
is only beautiful ; but after a time they built smart houses, and 
made gardens, and went down into the copse and tore up clumps 
of Brother Benedict's flowers, and planted them in exposed 
rockeries, and in pots in dry, hot parlors, where they died, and 
then the good folk went back for more. No one reckoned if he 
was taking more than his fair share, or studied the culture of 
what he took away, or took the pains to cover the roots of those 
he left behind, and in three years there was not left a Ladder to 
Heaven in all the Green Valley. 

The Green Valley had long been called the Black Valley, wher 



"LADDERS TO HEAVEN " 



365 




366 DOING RIGHT 

those who labored and grew rich in it awoke — as man must 
sooner or later awake — to the needs of the spirit above the 
flesh. They were a race famed for music, and they became more 
so. The love of beauty also grew, and was cultivated, and in 
time there were finer flowers blossoming in that smoky air than 
under many brighter skies. And with the earnings of their 
grimy trades they built a fine church, and adorned it more 
richly than the old church of the monastery, that had been 
destroyed. 

The parson who served this church and this people was as 
well-beloved by them as Brother Benedict had been in his day, 
and it was in striving to link their minds with sympathies of the 
past as well as hopes of the future, that one day he told them the 
legend of the Ladders to Heaven. A few days afterwards he 
was wandering near the stream, when he saw two or three lads 
with grimy faces busily at work in the wood through which the 
stream ran. At first, when he came suddenly on them, they 
looked shyly at one another, and at last one stood up and 
spoke. 

"It's a few lily roots, sir, we got in the market, and we're 
planting them; and two or three of us have set ourselves to 
watch that they are not shifted till they've settled. Maybe we 
shall none of us see them fair wild here again, any more than 
Brother Benedict did. For black trades are short-lived trades, 
and there's none of us will be as old as he. But maybe we can 
take a pride too in thinking that they'll blow for other folk and 
other folk's children when we are gone." 



Once more the fastidious flowers spread, and became common 
in the valley, and were guarded with jealous care; and the 
memory of Brother Benedict lingered by the stream, and was 
doubly blessed. 

— Juliana Horatia Ewing. 



THE HERO-PRIEST 367 



1 


HOW 


TO LOOK 




Look up and not down; look forward and not back; 


look 


out and not in ; 


and lend 


a hand. 








— Edward Everett Hale. 



1. Describe the Green Valley and the men who lived there. 

2. How did Brother Benedict spend his time? 

3. Why did he ask advice of the hermit ? 

4. Tell of his second visit to the hermit. 

5. What did he find on his return home ? 

6. How did Benedict show his love for his neighbors? 

7. What changes came to the Green Valley? 

8. How did the people learn the legend of the lilies? 

9. What resulted from this ? 
10. What did the boys say ? 



THE HERO-PRIEST 

Or the many archipelagoes scattered over the broad Pacific 
Ocean none is more intimately associated with names that have 
gained a lasting and world-wide fame than the Sandwich or, to 
give them their native name, the Hawaiian Islands. It was on 
one of this group that Captain Cook, the illustrious navigator, 
was murdered on February 14, 1779. It was on another that 
Father Damien, the humble Belgian priest, "made his great 
renunciation," as Robert Louis Stevenson called it, "shutting 
to with his own hand the doors of his own sepulchre" that he 
might minister to the forsaken lepers of Molokai. No episode 
of modern missions has thrilled the civilized world more deeply 
than Father Damien's self-sacrifice. From the Pacific to the 
Atlantic, by Protestants no less than by Catholics, he has been 
admiringly crowned as one of the very foremost in the long 
beadroll of the martyr-heroes of the Christian faith. 



368 DOING RIGHT 

He was born in 1840 of peasant parents at a little village on 
the river Laak, not far from the ancient city of Louvain, in 
Belgium. His real name was Joseph de Veuster, Damien being 
a new name which he adopted, according to the custom of the 
religious orders, when he was admitted to the congregation of 
the Picpus Fathers. In 1864 he joined on the shortest notice 
as a substitute for his elder brother, who had suddenly fallen 
ill, a band of missionaries for the Hawaiian Islands, and his 
life's labors were begun in the very island on which Captain 
Cook met his tragic end so long before. 

Here for nine years he toiled unsparingly, endearing himself 
to the natives, and earning from his bishop the title of "the in- 
trepid," because nothing ever seemed to daunt him. He had 
many adventures both on the sea and among the volcanic moun- 
tains. In visiting the people in the remoter parts of the island 
he thought nothing of scaling precipitous rocks on hands and 
knees, till his boots were torn to shreds and the blood flowed 
freely from feet as well as hands. Once when his canoe capsized 
he had to save his life by a long swim in his clothes. On another 
occasion, as he was riding along a lonely coast, he observed a 
ship's boat with several persons in it drifting helplessly toward 
the rocks. Jumping from his horse, he plunged into the sea, 
and succeeded in reaching the boat and bringing to land eight 
shipwrecked sailors — three Americans, four Englishmen, and a* 
Dutchman. Their vessel had taken fire in mid-ocean ; for more 
than a week they had drifted about in the Pacific till their 
strength was utterly exhausted ; and death was already staring 
them in the eyes when the brave young priest came with deliver- 
ance. 

But we must pass from deeds of courage and daring, in which 
Damien has been equaled by many others, to speak of that great 
deed of sacrifice in which he stands alone. The lovely Hawaiian 
Islands have long suffered from a terrible scourge, the scourge 
of leprosy. Some years after Father Damien's arrival the Gov- 



THE HERO-PRIEST 369 

ernment determined on the use of drastic measures to stamp 
out the evil. There is in the archipelago an island called Molokai, 
which along its northern side presents to the sea an awful front 
of precipice. To this desolate tongue of wind-swept down it 
was resolved to deport every person, young or old, rich or poor, 
prince or commoner, in whom the slightest taint of leprosy should 
be found. The law was carried into effect with the utmost rigor. 
All over the islands lepers and those suspected of having leprosy 
were hunted out by the police, dragged away from their homes, 
and if certified by a doctor as touched by the disease, at once 
shipped off to the leper settlement as if to a State prison. Chil- 
dren were torn from their parents and parents from their chil- 
dren. Husbands and wives were separated forever. In no 
case was any respect of persons shown, and a near relative of 
the Hawaiian Queen was among the first to be seized and trans- 
ported. 

Awful indeed was the lot of these poor creatures, thus gathered 
together from all parts of the islands and shot out like rubbish 
on that dismal wedge of land between cliff and sea. For some 
time Damien had felt their dreadful lot pressing heavily upon 
his heart, all the more as several of his own flock had been car- 
ried away to the settlement. 

One day there was a gathering of the Roman Catholic clergy 
at the dedication of a church on the island of Maui, which lies 
not far from Molokai. After the ceremony was over, the bishop 
was holding a familiar conversation with his missionaries, and 
in the course of it he spoke of the distress he felt for the poor 
lepers of Molokai — stricken sheep without a shepherd. At 
once Damien spoke out. " My lord," he said, " on the day when 
I was admitted to the order of the Picpus Fathers I was placed 
under the pall, that I might learn that voluntary death is the 
beginning of a new life. And I wish to declare now that I am 
ready to bury myself alive among the lepers of Molokai, some of 
whom are well known to me." 



37o DOING RIGHT 

It shows the stuff of which those Roman Catholic mission- 
aries were made that the bishop accepted Damien's proposal 
as simply and readily as it was uttered. " I could not have 
imposed this task upon any one/' he said ; "but I gladly accept 
the offer you have made." At once Damien was ready to start, 
for, like General Gordon when he started for Khartum, he 
required no time for preparations. A few days afterwards, on 
May ii, 1873, he was landed on the beach of Kalawao along 
with a batch of fifty miserable lepers, whom the authorities had 
just collected from various parts of Hawaii. 

The sights that met the eye of the devoted missionary must 
have been revolting beyond expression, though Damien himself 
says little about them, for it was not his habit to dwell on these 
details. He came to Kalawao when the settlement was at its 
worst. He saw it, too, not as a passing visitor, but as one who 
knew that henceforth this was to be his only home on earth. He 
confesses that for a moment, as he stepped ashore, his heart 
sank within him. But he said to himself, "Now, Joseph, my 
boy, this is your life work!" And never during the sixteen 
years that followed did he go back upon his resolve. 

For several weeks, until he found time to build himself a hut, 
he had no shelter but a large pandanus tree. This pandanus 
tree he called his house, and under its branches he lay down on 
the ground to sleep at night. Meanwhile, from the very first, 
he spent his days in trying to teach and help and comfort his 
leper flock. In a letter to his brother, Father Pamphile, in sub- 
stitution for whom, as mentioned already, he had become a 
Hawaiian missionary, he admits that at first he almost grew sick 
in the presence of so much physical corruption. On Sundays 
especially, when the people crowded closely round him in the 
little building which served as a chapel, he often felt as if he must 
rush out of the loathsome atmosphere into the open air. But 
he deliberately crushed these sensations down. He sought to 
make himself as one of the lepers, and carried this so far that in 



THE HERO-PRIEST 371 

his preaching he did not use the conventional "My brethren," 
but employed the expression "We lepers," instead. And by 
and by the spirit of sympathy grew so strong that even in the 
presence of what was most disgusting all feeling of repugnance 
passed entirely away. 

It was not only the souls of the lepers for which Father Damien 
cared. At that time there was no doctor in the settlement, so 
he set himself to soothe their bodily sufferings as best he could, 
cleansing their open wounds and binding up their stumps and 
sores. Death was constantly busy — indeed, some one died 
almost every day ; and whether at noon or at midnight, the good 
father was there to perform the last offices of his Church. And 
as he sought to comfort the lepers in dying, his care for them 
continued after they were dead. Before his arrival no one 
had thought of burying a dead leper with any sort of decency. 
No coffin was provided ; the corpse at best was shoveled hastily 
into a shallow hole. But Father Damien's reverence for a human 
being forbade him to acquiesce in such arrangements. As there 
was no one else to make coffins he made them himself, and it is 
estimated that during his years on Molokai he made not less 
than 1500 with his own hands. More than this. When no other 
could be got to dig a proper grave, Damien did not hesitate to 
seize his spade and act the part of the grave-digger. To most 
people such toils as pastor and preacher, doctor and undertaker, 
would seem more than enough even for the strongest of men. 
But they were far from summing up the labors of Damien. 
He induced the people to build themselves houses, and as few of 
them knew how to begin, he became head-mason and carpenter- 
in-chief to the whole settlement. He next got them to give him 
their assistance in erecting suitable chapels at different points 
of the peninsula. He built two orphanages, one for boys and 
one for girls, into which he gathered all the fatherless and mother- 
less children ; and to the instruction of these young people he 
gave special attention. Above all, he sought by constant 



372 DOIXG RIGHT 

cheerfulness and unflagging energy to infuse a new spirit into 
that forlorn collection of doomed men and women. By teach- 
ing them to work he brought a fresh and healthy interest into 
their lives. By creating a Christian public opinion he lifted them 
out of the condition of filth and sottishness into which they had 
sunk. But above all he wiped off from their souls "the soiling 
of despair" by the assurance he gave them of human sympathy 
and Divine love. 

" What was Father Damien like ? n many will ask. He was tall 
and strong, indeed of an imposing presence, with a bright and 
serene countenance and a rich and powerful voice. The very 
sight of him brought strength and comfort to others. Like the 
Master whom he loved and sought to follow, and who also was 
the friend of the leper, he was possessed of a strange magnetism 
— a kind of vital "virtue" — which, though in Damiens case 
it could not effect miracles, yet had power to lift up the hearts 
of those who were bowed down by their infirmities. 

So the years passed on. while day after day was filled up with 
such tasks as we have described. During the first six months 
the father was sometimes haunted by the thought that he had 
contracted the insidious disease, but thereafter he banished 
the idea from his mind, and lived on in Molokai for many years 
in perfect health and strength. One day. however, as he was 
washing his feet in unusually hot water, he noticed that they 
had been blistered with the heat without his being conscious of 
any pain. At once he knew what this meant. He had not lived 
so long in the settlement without learning that the absence of 
feeling in any part of the body is one of the surest symptoms of 
leprosy ; and now he understood that his doom was sealed. But 
the fact made very little difference in either his thoughts or his 
ways. So long as he was able he went on with his duties as 
before, while he exerted himself with special anxiety to secure 
that after he was gone the work he had been doing in the settle- 
ment should be carried on, and carried on still more efficiently 



THE HERO-PRIEST 373 

than had been possible for one who labored single-handed. 
Before he died he had the joy of knowing not only that these 
deeds of love and mercy would be taken up and continued by 
other fathers of his order, but that a band of Franciscan sisters, 
inspired by his great example, had volunteered to serve as 
nurses among the lepers of Molokai, and that an adequate hospi- 
tal with a thoroughly qualified doctor would seek to assuage the 
sufferings of those who had reached the last stages of the fatal 
malady. 

In spite of all that Father Damien accomplished when he was 
alive, we might almost say that he did more for the Hawaiian 
lepers by his death than by his life. It was not till after he 
had passed away that men came to a full knowledge of this hero 
of the nineteenth century. Largely by the help of the burning 
pen of Robert Louis Stevenson, the story of his willing martyr- 
dom flew round the world and made the name of Molokai illus- 
trious. Internationa] sympathy was aroused for the poor 
sufferers for whom Damien laid down his life. The Press of every 
Christian country resounded with his fame. Princes and peas- 
ants sought to do him honor. His Royal Highness, the Prince 
of Wales, placed himself at the head of a movement which had 
for its object to commemorate the life and labors of this brave 
soldier-saint of Jesus Christ. Money flowed in, by which it 
became possible to do much more for Damien's leper flock than 
he had ever been able to do himself. The Damien Institute was 
formed in England for the training of Roman Catholic youths 
to the laborious life of missionary priests in the South Seas. 

When Father Damien's end was drawing near, he expressed a 
desire to be buried at the foot of the pandanus tree beneath 
which he had lived when he first came to Molokai. The two 
fathers who were now with him thought it right to comply with 
his wishes ; and so under the very spot which once served him 
for his bed, his body lies with flowers growing over it and the 
wide tree spreading above. In one of the streets of Louvain 



374 DOING RIGHT 

there stands a beautiful statue of Father Damien. His face is 
uplifted to heaven, his left hand holds a crucihx to his heart, 
his right arm is thrown in love and protection round the shoulder 
of a poor leper, who crouches to his side for comfort. It is a 
fine conception, finely executed ; and yet its effect upon the be- 
holder can hardly compare with the feelings of those who, like 
Stevenson and other pilgrims to the island, have stood by that 
grave in Molokai beneath the old pandanus tree and seen Father 
Damien's monument lying all around him in that community of 
lepers, which has been "purged, bettered, beautified" by his 
great act of sacrifice. 

— John C. Lambert. Abridged. 



Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared 
for you from the foundation of the world: for I was 
hungry, and ye gave me to eat ; I was thirsty, and ye gave 
me drink ; I was a stranger, and ye took me in ; naked, 
and ye clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited me. 

— Matthew xxv. 34-36. 



"Who was Father Damien ? 

How did he happen to go to the Hawaiian Islands ? 

What disease was common in these islands ? 

What was done with the lepers ? 

What did Father Damien do ? 

Tell about his life among the lepers. 

How has his work been carried on since his death ? 



THE RED CROSS EVANGEL OF MERCY 

The daughter of a soldier who fought under Anthony Wayne 
against the Indians of the West, Clara Barton was born in North 
Oxford, Massachusetts, December 25, 182 1. She was edu- 
cated in an academy at Clinton, New York, became a teacher, 



THE RED CROSS EVANGEL OF MERCY 375 

and quickly showed her progressive spirit and ability by found- 
ing at Borden town, New Jersey, at her own risk, the first free 
school ever opened in that State. Beginning with six pupils, 
she had six hundred by the end of her first year, and had ob- 
tained the money to erect a new schoolhouse, at a cost of four 
thousand dollars. 

Her life as a teacher ended in 1854, when failing health obliged 
her to give up the absorbing duties of her school. Soon after- 
wards she obtained a position as clerk in the Patent Office at 
Washington, holding it till the outbreak of the Civil War, when 
the demands of the wounded and suffering appealed so strongly 
to her warm heart that she resigned her position and offered her 
services as a volunteer nurse. It was the first step in a long 
life given to this cause. 

Seeking the hospital, the camp, the battle field itself, she de- 
voted herself unflinchingly to the distressing work she had under- 
taken, nobly facing the terrible scenes into which it brought her. 
When the army began its Peninsular campaign in 1862 she went 
with it to the field, where she pursued her chosen work in a quiet, 
self-contained, and most efficient way, never flinching from the 
most arduous duties or the most harrowing scenes. Her earnest 
solicitation brought her supplies in abundance from the chari- 
table, and all the resources of military trains and camp equipage 
were placed at her service, her noble and valuable work of aid 
to the suffering being everywhere acknowledged. 

She was present on many ol the battle fields of Virginia, was 
eight months engaged in hospital duty on Morris Island during 
the siege of Charleston, was afterwards busied in the Wilderness 
campaign, and in 1864 was put in charge of the hospitals at the 
front of the Army of the James, her devotion to duty not ceas- 
ing until the war ended. 

The close of the war brought her new work to do. At the 
request of President Lincoln she took up the arduous duty of 
searching for the 80,000 men marked on the army muster rolls 



376 DOING RIGHT 

as missing. In this service she went to the prison at Anderson- 
ville, aided the prisoners there upon their release, and contin- 
ued the work of identifying the dead until gravestones had 
been erected over the bodies of 12,920 men, and tablets marked 
" unknown" placed over four hundred more. This labor took 
four years of her life, during part of which she gave a series of 
lectures upon " Incidents of the War," in which she told to hun- 
dreds of thousands of interested listeners the facts of her thrill- 
ing experience. 

It was while in Switzerland in 1869, whither she had gone for 
rest after her many years of hard work, that she first heard of 
the Red Cross Society. Every power in Europe had joined in 
the treaty which gave the members of this beneficent associa- 
tion immunity on the battle field, and licensed them to care for 
the wounded of every creed and race, whether friends or foes. 
It was a work of mercy that appealed strongly to her sympathetic 
soul, and she promptly joined the society, entering quickly upon 
its duties, and devoting herself to them with the warmest zeal 
during the Franco-Prussian War. 

After the capitulation of Strassburg, she accompanied the 
German troops in their entry into its streets, and there found the 
most urgent need for this mission of benevolence. There were 
many thousands of homeless and starving people within the 
walls, and her heart was rent with sorrow at the suffering visible 
on every hand. Systematic and energetic work was needed 
here, and Miss Barton earnestly undertook the task of seeking 
to relieve the distress that surrounded her. Food was supplied 
for the hungry, materials for thousands of garments were 
procured, and she set the hungry and half-clad women at work 
in making these into articles of wear, seeing that they were paid 
for their labor and thus enabled to obtain food. 

Her work at Strassburg was quickly followed by similar work at 
Paris, where the outbreak of the Commune had caused wide- 
spread suffering and distress. Entering that terror-haunted 



THE RED CROSS EVANGEL OF MERCY 377 

city courageously and on foot, she began her work with an 
earnestness that quickly won her recognition among the warring 
elements, food and clothing being supplied her which she dis- 
tributed with the judicious care born of long experience. The 
story is told that on one occasion a hungry mob, fiercely demand- 
ing food, had overcome the police in front of her dwelling. Open- 
ing the door, she spoke earnestly to the infuriated throng. Rec- 
ognizing her as the bringer of relief to their families, their mood 
changed. 

"It is an angel!" they exclaimed. Then they quietly dis- 
persed, their wild fury tamed by the voice of this giver of food to 
them and theirs. 

Miss Barton returned to America in 1873. She brought with 
her, as tokens of appreciation of her work, the Golden Cross of 
Baden, presented her by the Grand Duke, and the Iron Cross 
of Germany, presented by the Emperor, both of them in recogni- 
tion of her invaluable services. In her native land, in which 
she was at that time the only member of the Red Cross, she 
earnestly applied to Congress to join in the international Euro- 
pean treaty establishing this society, an effort in which she did 
not succeed until 1881. 

As president of the American branch of the society, she pro- 
posed an amendment which vastly widened its scope. There 
was at that time no probability that the services of the Red Cross 
members would for years be called for by wars in America, and 
the duties of the society had been restricted to this purpose. 
Her proposal was that its scope should be widened so as to 
embrace all cases of suffering from fire, flood, famine, pestilence, 
or disasters of any kind calling for relief. 

Her amendment, which also embraced protection to Red 
Cross agents under duties of any nature, was agreed to by a 
conference of the society held at Berne in 1882, but was not 
adopted by any of the nations of Europe. Had the work of the 
society been confined to war, Miss Barton would have found little 



378 DOING RIGHT 

call for her services at home, but its new and broader scope 
brought her no end of duties of the most diversified kind. The 
Michigan forest fires and the Mississippi Valley floods of 1882 
and 1883 called for active relief work, which was conducted 
under her supervision. In 1884 there came the Louisiana cy- 
clone. Later there was the Charleston earthquake, the drought 
in Texas, and that frightful disaster, the Johnstown flood. When 
the news of this terrible affliction reached her she hurried to the 
ground on the first train, and remained there for five months, 
having under her a force of fifty men and women, vast sums of 
money being placed at her disposal, for use in giving relief to the 
suffering and destitute. Later the dreadful cyclone on the Sea 
Islands of South Carolina called for similar devoted services. 

During part of this period Miss Barton held the position of 
superintendent of the Reformatory School for Women at Sher- 
born, Massachusetts, which was placed under her care in 1883. 
As evidence of the kind of work she did there, and the respect 
and admiration felt for her by the inmates, we may give the fol- 
lowing incident told by a lady visitor to the institution. While 
she was being taken by the superintendent through the wards, 
a girl convict raised herself on her cot and gazed fixedly at Miss 
Barton. 

"Well, what is it?" the latter kindly asked. 

"Nothing. I heard you coming and just wanted to look at 
you." 

It was a pathetic demonstration of the warmth of their feeling 
towards her. 

In 1883 Miss Barton, at the request of a committee of Con- 
gress, prepared a volume entitled, " History of the Red Cross 
Association." This was supplemented at a later date by a work 
similar in character, "History of the Red Cross in Peace and 
War." 

In 1884 she attended the International Peace Congress at 
Geneva, as a deputy from the United States, and on two occa- 



THE RED CROSS EVANGEL OF MERCY 379 

sions subsequently was appointed by the United States Govern- 
ment to international conferences in Europe to discuss ques- 
tions of relief in war. 

Though the nations of Europe had not accepted the American 
widening of the purposes of the Red Cross Society, Miss Barton 
volunteered her services there on two critical occasions unwar- 
like in character. During the famine in Russia in 1891-1892 
the American Red Cross Society took active part under the aus- 
pices of its noble president in the work of relief . Food and cloth- 
ing were obtained in quantities and widely distributed among 
the sufferers. 

Again in January, 1896, moved by the frightful massacres in 
Armenia, she made an appeal for aid to the charitable of this 
country, and in February reached Constantinople, attended 
by five assistants. Here an appeal was made to the Sultan for 
permission to proceed to Armenia and relieve the distress there 
as far as could be done. A reluctant assent was given, with 
the demand that Miss Barton and her assistants should place 
the crescent above the cross on the badges worn by them. This 
being complied with, a gratifying change was visible, the govern- 
ment giving prompt and courteous assistance, while the messen- 
gers made their way without delay to the scene of trouble and 
rendered timely and important service to the destitute and in- 
jured sufferers. 

Miss Barton's services during this mission of mercy were 
recognized by Guy de Lusignan, Prince of Jerusalem, Cyprus, 
and Armenia, through the decoration of the Order of Melusine, 
which he conferred upon her. In addition to this and the crosses 
of honor bestowed upon her at the close of the Franco-Prussian 
War, she received at intervals other valuable tokens of appre- 
ciation, including a handsome jewel from the Duchess of Baden, 
a medal and jewel from the Empress of Germany, a decoration 
of gems from the Queen of Servia, and a brooch and pendant of 
diamonds as a tribute of gratitude from the people of Johnstown. 



3 8o DOING RIGHT 

In 1898, Miss Barton, at the request of President McKinley, 
proceeded to Cuba as a bearer of relief to the suffering and starv- 
ing reconcentrados x of that country, and in the war that succeeded 
she did valuable field work among the sick and wounded of the 
army in Cuba. In 1900 another demand for relief came from 
the sufferers at Galveston, where a vast ocean storm had inun- 
dated and ruined the city. Miss Barton, with her accustomed 
promptness, hastened to the scene of suffering ; but the strain 
proved too much for her, now nearly in her eightieth year, and 
she broke down and was forced, for the first time in her long life 
of arduous work, to desist from active labors. 

History does not contain many records of devotion to human- 
ity and self-sacrifice in women surpassing that of Clara Barton, 
and she amply earned the high regard in which she was held. She 
was one of the few American women who won a European repu- 
tation, her name being known and revered from Paris and 
Strassburg to Russia and Armenia. In her own land she nobly 
earned her crown of fame. 

— Charles Morris. Adapted. 



For the Son of Man also came not to be ministered unto, 
but to minister. - Mark x. 45. 



1. What was Clara Barton's first service to the public? 

2. What work did she take up after teaching? 

3. Tell about her work during the Civil War. 

4. What did she do after this war ? 

5. Where did she first hear of the Red Cross Society? 

6. What countries of Europe did she aid? 

7. How was the Red Cross work extended in this country? 

8. Name several instances in the United States in which Miss Barton 
has helped. 

9. What honors have been conferred upon her ? 

10. What was the most prominent trait of her character? 

1 Noncombatants placed in camps during war. 



"THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLD" 

If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, 
but have not love, I am become sounding brass, or a 
clanging cymbal. And if I have the gift of prophecy, 
and know all mysteries and all knowledge ; and if I 
have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not 
love, I am nothing. And if I bestow all my goods to 
feed the poor, and if I give my body to be burned, but 
have not love, it profiteth me nothing. Love suffereth 
long, and is kind ; love envieth not ; love vaunteth not 
itself, is not purled up, doth not behave itself unseemly, 
seeketh not its own, is not provoked, taketh not ac- 
count of evil ; rejoiceth not in unrighteousness, but 
rejoiceth with the truth ; beareth all things, believeth 
all things, hopeth all things, endure th all things. Love 
never faileth : but whether there be prophecies, they 
shall be done away ; whether there be tongues, they shall 
cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall be done 
away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part ; 
but when that which is perfect is come, that which is in 
part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake 
as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child : now 
that I am become a man, I have put away childish 
things. For now we see in a mirror, darkly ; but then 
face to face : now I know in part ; but then shall I 
know fully even as also I was fully known. But now 
abideth faith, hope, love, these three ; and the great- 
est of these is love. 

— I Corinthians xiii. 1-13. 



381 



382 DOING RIGHT 

A WORKING MONK 

When it was reported in Rome that a man was living in a 
cave in a wild gorge by the river Anio, forty miles away, people 
were interested but not surprised. It was not at that time an 
uncommon thing to live in a cave. 

The monastic life, whose joys Jerome had preached to the 
ladies of Roman society, had by this time attracted great num- 
bers of people, in the West as in the East. This was due in part 
to two exceedingly popular books which everybody read : the 
''Life of St. Anthony."' by Athanasius, and the "Life of St. 
Martin,'' by Sulpicius Severus. The patience and devotion of 
Anthony in Egypt were equaled, if not surpassed, by the spiritual 
virtues and adventures of Martin in France. 

It was Martin who. in his youth a cavalryman in the army of 
the emperor Julian, saw a shivering beggar by the roadside, and 
cutting his military cloak in two flung half over the beggar's 
back, and that night in vision saw the Lord in heaven wearing 
the garment which he had thus given in compassion. It was 
Martin to whom once appeared a vision of the Lord in shining 
apparel, with a chariot of hre, and invited the saint to ride with 
Him to the gates of Paradise ; and Martin, looking attentively 
at Him. said, "Where are the marks of the nails ? " and the vision, 
which was a trick of the devil, vanished in a cloud of evil smoke. 

The marks of the nails were evident in all the life of Martin, 
who put himself to much privation, gave his days and nights to 
prayer, went about his great pagan diocese on foot, braved a 
savage emperor who had behaved unjustly, and a whole com- 
munity of wild heathen whose sacred tree he cut down with his 
own ax, and alike by his courage and his gentleness appealed to 
the imagination of earnest youth. 

St. .Anthony and St. Martin, then, were the heroes of the de- 
vout life of the fifth century. The man in the cave knew by 
heart the books which told about them. 



A WORKING MONK 382 

Another and still stronger argument for the forsaking of the 
world was the condition of the w r orld itself. All things were in 
confusion. Alaric the Goth and Genseric the Vandal were fol- 
lowed by Attila the Hun, and by a thousand other lesser captains. 
The Lombards were settling in the north of Italy. The Franks 
were taking France. The old laws were no longer a protection, 
the old customs were giving place to new, the wealthy and edu- 
cated Latins were thrust out of their pleasant houses ; and these 
conquerors, uneducated, only partially civilized, speaking 
strange languages, took possession. The Goths, indeed, had 
become Christians ; but their Christianity was of the Arian kind. 
And when the Franks, under their king Clovis, were converted 
and became Catholic Christians, the Franks and the Goths fell to 
righting, and the miseries of the times were multiplied. No 
peaceful citizen could be sure when he went to bed at night that 
his house would not be burned down before morning. Under 
these circumstances, even a cave in a dark gorge, while it might 
not be very comfortable, had at least the advantage of being safe. 

So thought Benedict when he hid himself beside the river 
Anio. He belonged to a noble family in Rome, and spent his 
youth there. When he had had enough, and more than enough, 
of the hard world, he put it all behind him, and found peace and 
the presence of God in his cave. He had a friend who every 
day lowered over the face of the cliff to the mouth of the cave a 
little basket of bread. A bell tied to the basket informed the 
hermit that his dinner was approaching. 

The reports which were carried about by neighboring shep- 
herds concerning the holiness of the man in the cave caused the 
monks of a monastery in that region to invite him to be their 
abbot. " You don't want me for your abbot," said Benedict,' 
when they appeared at the mouth of the cave with their request. 
"You don't know what sort of man I am. You would not be 
willing to live according to my rule." But the monks were full 
of enthusiasm at the : dea of a holy abbot and a better life, and 



384 DOING RIGHT 

they insisted till Benedict consented. So he took command, 
and at the end of the first week they tried to poison him. 

This experience disclosed the fact that the monastic life 
needed reforming. A hundred other houses of religion were 
like the abbey whose monks had found the discipline of Bene- 
dict too hard. Men had gone into monasticism for a great 
number of reasons : because they were afraid of Franks and 
Goths, because they had failed in business or in love, because 
they did not wish to work. And having become monks, they 
were living pretty much as they pleased, some starving, and 
some feasting ; some saying their prayers, some breaking the 
Commandments. There was no order, or regularity, or common 
discipline. There was no accepted rule. 

When Benedict returned to his cave beside the Anio, his former 
solitude had become impossible. Good people were greatly 
interested in the abbot who was so strict that his monks had 
put poison in his cup. Disciples gathered about him. Xoble 
Roman families sent their sons to him to be instructed in reli- 
gion. Presently, on the wild hills in the neighborhood of Bene- 
dict's cave, were twelve groups of men in twelve monastic houses, 
living according to his regulations. 

But the world was still too near, and the monks sought a 
more secure retreat. To the south was a range of mountains, 
and on the summit of one of them, called Monte Cassino, they 
found a little temple with an altar dedicated to Apollo, stand- 
ing in a grove. There were still a few country people who came 
to offer their sacrifices in the old way. It was one of many 
hidden places, among the woods and in the high hills, where the 
Roman gods were still remembered. These simple people Bene- 
dict converted. Their temple to Apollo he destroyed, and on 
its site he began the building of a monastery, which became the 
most famous and influential in all Europe. 

For the monks of Monte Cassino, Benedict wrote a rule of 
life which was so good that all other monks adopted it. Even 



A WORKING MONK 385 

to-day, wherever there is a monastery, the conduct of its life is 
still governed by St. Benedict. 

He found the monks, following the example of the East, 
devoting themselves to pain and prayer, living their own religious 
life for the good of their own souls. Benedict brought them 
back to save the world which they had abandoned. He stopped 
the old tortures. He forsook all that starving and beating of 
the body which good men had undertaken in the desert of the 
Nile in the hope of improving their souls. For pain he sub- 
stituted work. The fare of the monks was to be plain and 
frugal, but not to the extent of hardships. Their work was to 
be in part in the field, cultivating the soil, and in part in the 
cloister, reading and studying, and teaching. 

The influence of these provisions was far-reaching and of vast 
importance. 

The Latins had despised all labor of the hands. They had had 
slaves to do that, and it was associated with slavery. It was 
accounted a disgrace for a free man to work. Benedict and his 
monks put a stop to that mischievous prejudice. Men saw these 
gentlemen and saints planting their fields, mowing their grain, 
gathering their fruit. The sight dignified all the humble life 
of the farm. The first thing which the monks did when they 
established a monastery in a wild place was to clear the land, 
and they got their barbarian neighbors to follow their example. 

As for the labor of the mind, the Goths and Franks were un- 
accustomed to it. When they came on their fierce invasions 
they brought no books, and those which they found they could 
not read. For many years they were too busy fighting, and then 
settling, making themselves the new masters of the old empire, 
to pay attention to learning. The reading monks did that. 
They preserved the ancient Latin books. They saved Virgil 
and Horace and Cicero, and all the Latin classics from destruc- 
tion. They were the teachers of the new generations. 

Thus when Benedict wrote in his rule, "Idleness is the enemy 



386 DOING RIGHT 

of the soul; and therefore the brethren ought to employ them- 
selves at certain times in the work of the hands, and again at 
certain times in divine reading," the words were such as to exer- 
cise an influence for the good of the world greater than that of 
all the books which had been written since the New Testament. 
It is the province and privilege of the men who come first 
to clear the way and build foundations. Thus Cyprian was the 
pioneer of the Church : he first brought the Christian society 
into its place of future importance in the Christian religion. 
Athanasius was the pioneer of the creed : he first insisted on 
the essential importance of an accurate statement of the faith. 
Ambrose and Chrysostom were splendid examples of the leader- 
ship of religion against unrighteousness. Jerome gave West- 
ern Christendom the Bible in its own language. Augustine 
contributed a system of theology, partly true and partly untrue, 
which, for good and evil, governed the minds of men during the 
succeeding centuries. Benedict set in order that monastic life 
which carried religion and civilization through the confusion of 
the fall of the Roman Empire. 

— George Hodges. 



DOING ONE'S BEST 

A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his 
work, and done his best. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



i . Who lived in a cave ? 

2. Why did Benedict do this? 

3. How was he provided with food? 

4. What invitation came to Benedict ? 

5. Why did he return to his cave life? 

6. Tell about the founding and growth of his monastery. 

7. What changes did he make in other monasteries? 

8. What did he teach people about work? 



AN ARCHITECT OF FORTUNE 387 



AN ARCHITECT OF FORTUNE 

The story of Peter Cooper ought to prove interesting and 
inspiring to every American boy. He was a poor lad, born of 
hard-working parents. He began to help his father in his work 
at a very early age, and by hard labor and good habits, he grew 
up to be a successful business man, accumulating a large fortune 
and doing much good in the world. He reached the unusual 
age of ninety-two, and died respected and mourned by many to 
whom his life had proved a blessing. About such a man it is 
well to know more. The following story tells of his life : 

Peter Cooper was born in New York. His father, John 
Cooper, was a hatter. He was a man of sterling worth, and it is 
said that at one time he was a lieutenant in the war of the Revo- 
lution. His father named him after the Apostle Peter, because 
he felt that, like the Apostle, he would accomplish much good 
in the world. In this feeling he was not disappointed ; for, as 
we shall see, the boy grew up to be a most useful man. 

Very early in life Peter was put to work in his father's shop. 
His task proved to be a very humble one. At that time rabbits' 
hair was used for making beaver hats, and Peter's work was to 
pull the hair from the rabbit skins. Although this is not a very 
interesting task, Peter was faithful and industrious, and his 
father took great pride in him. 

But the necessity for keeping him at work in the hatshop kept 
him away from school most of the time. The only schooling 
that the boy received was one year's attendance upon half-day 
sessions, amounting to about eighty days in all. 

Peter's father had a large family, and although he did a good 
business, he failed to earn sufficient money to support them com- 
fortably ; so he decided to move to Peekskill, and later to Catskill, 
hoping each time to improve his business. He continued to 
make hats, but he also began the manufacture of bricks. In 



388 DOING RIGHT 

this new occupation Peter made himself useful. He was very 
industrious and did what he could to promote his father's 
interests. 

However, when he had reached the age of seventeen, he became 
dissatisfied because of the hard work and the small reward. So 
he decided to try to better his condition, and went to New York, 
where he apprenticed himself for four years to John Woodward, 
a carriage builder. 

Peter, of course, was poor, and he was ambitious, not only to 
earn money, but also to accomplish something more than was 
included in his daily task. His Grandmother Campbell owned 
a rear building on Broadway, and she let him have the use of it 
free. Here the youth worked evenings. He fitted up a work- 
shop where he carved materials used for coaches, and did other 
work relating to carriage building. He sold the products of his 
labor to his employer. 

But Peter did more than this. He was possessed of consid- 
erable inventive skill, and he turned it to good account. It was 
not long before he succeeded in inventing a machine for mortis- 
ing hubs for carriage wheels. This was quite an achievement 
for a youth of his age. 

By the time he had reached the age of twenty-one, Peter had 
made such progress in his knowledge of carriage building and 
had manifested such skill in this work that his employer had 
great confidence in him. He offered to lend Peter money to 
establish a shop of his own. This was a very generous offer, 
and doubtless many young men would have accepted it. But 
young Cooper did not want to run into debt. He thought that 
this would be unwise, so he gratefully refused his employer's 
offer. 

Having completed his apprenticeship, he was now free to enter 
upon work elsewhere. He visited his brother at Hempstead, 
Long Island. Here he obtained work in a factory in which 
machines for shearing cloth were manufactured. Three years 



AN ARCHITECT OF FORTUNE 389 

later he purchased the right to manufacture such machines for 
the state of New York. The young man was now on the road 
to business success. He was gradually accumulating money, 
and it looked as if he might soon be a prosperous man. 

But his father had not succeeded very well during these years. 
•At this time he found himself burdened with debts that he was 
unable to pay. Peter, who had saved about rive hundred dol- 
lars, came to his father's aid. He paid his debts, notwithstand- 
ing the fact that it took nearly every dollar of the small hoard 
that he had accumulated. 

When Peter reached the age of twenty-one, which was in the 
year 181 2, America and England were engaged in war. This 
cut off the supply of merchandise, especially of material for cloth- 
ing, from the foreign country, so that America was dependent 
upon her own manufacturers. This, of course, gave a great 
stimulus to home industry, and it proved an excellent oppor- 
tunity for Peter Cooper. He invented a machine for shearing 
the surface of cloth, which proved very successful. He built a 
shop for the manufacture of such machines, and soon the demand 
for the machine far exceeded the supply. 

But the termination of the war between Great Britain and 
America in 181 5 brought disaster to Mr. Cooper's business. 
Cloth could no longer be manufactured in this country with 
profit, so he had to turn to some other business. For a while 
he plied the trade of cabinet making, but was unsuccessful. 
Then he resolved to try storekeeping. There was a grocer's 
shop standing where Cooper Institute now stands. The young 
man purchased the grocer's stock and began his new career as a 
storekeeper. He was succeeding very well when one day a friend 
met him at his shop door and offered to sell him his glue factory. 
Peter visited the factory and soon came to the conclusion that 
he could develop it into a successful business. He paid his 
friend two thousand dollars for the factory, and after selling his 
grocery store, entered upon his new work. 



3 oo DOIXG RIGHT 

He knew that Russian glue was much better than American 
glue. So he carefully studied its composition. It was not long 
before he discovered how to manufacture the best glue. By 
tireless industry and careful supervision he built up a large 
and nourishing business, which finally yielded him an annua] 
income of thirty thousand dollars. But he was soon to extend 
his business operations. He was to enter into new fields of 
industry. 

In 1828 he bought a large tract of land consisting of three 
thousand acres, located within the city of Baltimore, for which he 
paid one hundred and five thousand dollars. The city at this 
time showed signs of large development, owing to rapid work on 
the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and Mr. Cooper thought his 
investment would prove a good one. Concerning this invest- 
ment Mr. Cooper himself says : 

"When I first purchased the property, it was in the midst of a 
great excitement created by a promise of the rapid completion 
of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which had been com- 
menced by a subscription of five dollars per share. In the course 
of the first yeai's operations they had spent more than the five 
dollars per share. But the road had to make such short turns in 
going around points of rocks that they found they could not 
complete the road without a much larger sum than they had sup- 
posed would be necessary ; while the many short turns in the 
road seemed to render it entirely useless for locomotive purposes. 
The principal stockholders had become so discouraged that they 
said they would not pay any more, and would lose all they had 
already paid in. After conversing with them. I told them that 
if they would hold on a little while. I would put a small locomo- 
tive on the road, which I thought would demonstrate the prac- 
ticability of using steam engines on the road, even with all the 
short turns in it. I got up a small engine for that purpose, and 
put it upon the road, and invited the stockholders to witness the 
experiment. After a good deal of trouble and difficulty in 



AN ARCHITECT OF FORTUNE 391 

accomplishing the work, the stockholders came, and thirty-six 
men were taken into a car, and, with six men on the locomotive, 
which carried its own fuel and water, and having to go uphill 
eighteen feet to a mile, and turning all the short turns around the 
points of rocks, we succeeded in making the thirteen miles, on 
the first passage out, in one hour and twelve minutes, and we 
returned from Ellicott's Mills to Baltimore in fifty-seven minutes. 
This locomotive was built to demonstrate that cars could be 
drawn around short curves, beyond anything believed at that 
time to be possible. The success of this locomotive also an- 
swered the question of the possibility of building railroads in a 
country scarce of capital, and with immense stretches of very 
rough country to pass, in order to connect commercial centers, 
without the deep cuts, the tunneling and leveling which short 
curves might avoid. My contrivance saved this road from 
bankruptcy." 

But a check to the expected development of Baltimore, due to 
the slow completion of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, made 
his investment seem, at least temporarily, of slight value. This 
led him to the decision to build a rolling mill upon the newly 
acquired land. Later the mill was moved to the city of Trenton, 
New Jersey, where Cooper and his partners did a very thriving 
business. It was not long before Peter Cooper became a very 
wealthy man. 

During the period of his life when he was serving his apprentice- 
ship, Peter Cooper had felt sorely the need of a better education. 
Although he was a skillful mechanic, and had a good deal of 
native intelligence, he still felt the need of such knowledge and 
training as can be obtained alone from books and schools. He 
purchased some books, hoping thereby to make up for the defi- 
ciency in his education, but he did not find many books that 
proved serviceable to him in this respect. Then he resolved tc 
go to an evening school in the city if one could be found, but 
there were no schools of that kind established in the city of New 



39* 



DOING RIGHT 




The Statue of Peter Cooper and Cooper Institute. 



AN ARCHITECT OF FORTUNE 393 

York at that time. Finally he secured a tutor, who, for a slight 
compensation, was willing to instruct him in arithmetic, and in 
several other studies. He tells us that at this time he made the 
following resolve : 

"If ever I prosper in business so as to acquire more property 
than I need, I will try to found an institution in the city of New 
York, wherein apprentice boys and young mechanics shall have 
a chance to get knowledge in the evening." 

His first intention had been to establish such an evening school 
as he had himself needed when he was an apprentice in New 
York. But this need had been met by the public schools of the 
city before he could carry out his resolution. He therefore built 
and endowed Cooper Institute, where mechanics and engineers 
could study for their professions. 

Thus from Peter Cooper's own handicap in obtaining his 
education, and his resolution that other boys should not suffer in 
a similar manner, arose Cooper Institute, a noble monument to 
one of our noblest citizens. _ RetM _ Charles Morris . 



The hand of the diligent maketh rich. 

— Proverbs x. 4. 

TOILING UPWARD 

The heights by great men reached and kept 

Were not attained by sudden flight, 
But they, while their companions slept, 

Were toiling upward in the night. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



1. Tell about Peter Cooper's boyhood. 

2. What work did he do? 

3. How long did he go to school? 

4. What did he do when seventeen ? 



jj94 DOING RIGHT 

5. In what lines of business did Mr. Cooper enrage 

6. Tell about his interest in the railroad. 

7. What public good did he accomplish? 

8. What were his traits of character? 

q. Memorize the following maxims, on economy. 



MAXIMS ON ECONOMY 

Economy is a great revenue. 

— Marcus Tullius Cicero. 

Beware of little expenses ; a small leak will sink a great ship. 

— Benjamin Franklin. 

Economy is the parent of integrity, of liberty, and of ease, 
and the beauteous sister of temperance, of cheerfulness, and 
health. 

— Samuel Johnson. 
Economy is a distinctive virtue. 

— Edmund Burke. 

And when they were filled, he saith unto his disciples, Gather 
up the broken pieces which remain over, that nothing be lost. 

— John vi. 12. 

BE STRONG 

Be strong ! 
We are not here to play, to dream, to drift. 
We have hard work to do, and loads to lift. 
Shun not the struggle ; face it. 'Tis God's gift. 

Be strong ! 
Say not the days are evil, — who's to blame ? 
And fold the hands and acquiesce — shame ! 
Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name. 



ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY 



o\ 



Be strong ! 
It matters net how deep intrenched the wrong, 
How hard the battle goes, the day how long. 
Faint not, fight on I To-morrow comes the song. 

— Maltbie Davenport Babcock. 



Be strong in the Lord, and in the strength of his might. 

— Ephesians vi. 10. 



ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY 

Welcome to the day returning, 

Dearer still as ages flow, 
While the torch of Faith is burning, 

Long as Freedom's altars glow ! 
See the hero whom it gave us 

Slumbering on a mother's breast ; 
For the arm he stretched to save us. 

Be its morn forever blest ! 

Hear the tale of youthful glory, 

While of Britain's rescued band 
Friend and foe repeat the story, 

Spread his fame o'er sea and land, 
Where the red cross, proudly streaming . 

Flaps above the frigate's deck, 
Where the golden lilies, gleaming, 

Star the watch-towers of Quebec. 

Look ! The shadow on the dial 
Marks the hour of deadlier strife ; 



396 DOING RIGHT 

Days of terror, years of trial, 

Scourge a nation into life. 
Lo, the youth, become her leader ? 

All her baffled tyrants yield ; 
Through his arm the Lord hath treed her ; 

Crown him on the tented field ! 

Vain is Empire's mad temptation ; 

Not for him an earthly crown ! 
He whose sword hath freed a nation 

Strikes the offered scepter down. 
See the throneless Conqueror seated, 

Ruler by a people's choice ; 
See the Patriot's task completed ; 

Hear the Father's dying voice ! 

"By the name that you inherit, 

By the sufferings you recall, 
Cherish the fraternal spirit ; 

Love your country first of all ! 
Listen not to idle questions 

If its bands may be untied ; 
Doubt the patriot whose suggestions 

Strive a nation to divide ! " 

Father ! We, whose ears have tingled 

With the discord-notes of shame, — 
We, whose sires their blood have mingled 

In the battle's thunder-flame, — 
Gathering, while this holy morning 

Lights the land from sea to sea, 
Hear thy counsel, heed thy warning ; 

Trust us, while we honor thee ! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes, 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 397 



A GREAT MAN 

A great man is made up of qualities that meet or make great 
occasions. 

— James Russell Lowell. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 

On the 4th of March, 1797, Washington went to the inaugura- 
tion of his successor as President of the United States. The 
Federal Government was sitting in Philadelphia at that time and 
Congress held sessions in the courthouse on the corner of Sixth 
and Chestnut streets. 

At the appointed hour Washington entered the hall followed 
by John Adams, who was to take the oath of office. When they 
were seated Washington arose and introduced Mr. Adams to the 
audience, and then proceeded to read in a firm, clear voice his 
brief valedictory — not his great "Farewell Address," for that 
had already been published. A lady who sat on "the front 
bench," "immediately in front" of Washington, describes the 
scene in these words : 

" There was a narrow passage from the door of entrance to the 
room. General Washington stopped at the end to let Mr. 
Adams pass to the. chair. The latter always wore a full suit of 
bright drab, with loose cuffs to his coat. General Washington's 
dress was a full suit of black. His military hat had the black 
cockade. There stood the ' Father of his Country, ' acknowledged 
by nations the first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of 
his countrymen. No marshals with gold-colored scarfs attended 
him ; there was no cheering, no noise ; the most profound silence 
greeted him as if the great assembly desired to hear him breathe. 
Mr. Adams covered his face with both his hands ; the sleeves of 



398 DOING RIGHT 

his coat and his hands were covered with tears. Every now and 
then- there was a suppressed sob. I cannot describe Washington's 
appearance as I felt it — perfectly composed and self-possessed 
till the close of his address. Then when strong, nervous sobs 
broke loose, when tears covered the faces, then the great man 
was shaken. I never took my eyes from his face. Large drops 
came from his eyes. He looked as if his heart was with them, 
and would be to the end." 

On Washington's retirement from the Presidency one of his 
employments was to arrange his papers and letters. Then on 
returning to his home the venerable master found many things 
to repair. His landed estate comprised eight thousand acres, 
and was divided into farms, with inclosures and farm buildings. 
And now with body and mind alike sound and vigorous, he bent 
his energies to directing the improvements that marked his last 
days at Mount Vernon. 

In his earlier as well as in later life, his tour of the farms would 
average from eight to twelve or fourteen miles a day. He rode 
upon his farms entirely unattended, opening his gates, pulling 
down and putting up his fences as he passed, visiting his laborers 
at their work, inspecting all the operations of his extensive 
establishment with a careful eye, directing useful improvements 
and superintending them in their progress. 

He usually rode at a moderate pace in passing through his 
fields. But when behind time this most punctual of men would 
display the horsemanship of his earlier days, and a hard gallop 
would bring him up to time so that the sound of his horse's 
hoofs and the first dinner bell would be heard together at a quarter 
before three. 

A story is told that one day an elderly stranger meeting a 
Revolutionary worthy out hunting, a long-tried and valued 
friend of the chief, accosted him, and asked whether Washington 
was to be found at the mansion house, or whether he was off 
riding over his estate. The friend answered that he was visiting 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 399 

his farms, and directed the stranger the road to take, adding, 
" You will meet, sh> with an old gentleman riding alone in plain 
drab clothes, a broad-brimmed white hat, a hickory switch in his 
hand, and carrying an umbrella with a long staff, which is at- 
tached to his saddle-bow — that person, sir, is General Washing- 
ton." 

Precisely at a quarter before three the industrious farmer 
returned, dressed, and dined at three o'clock. At this meal he 
ate heartily, but was not particular in his diet with the exception 
of fish, of which he was excessively fond. Touching his liking 
for fish, and illustrative of his practical economy and abhorrence 
of waste and extravagance, an anecdote is told of the time he was 
President and living in Philadelphia. It happened that a single 
shad had been caught in the Delaware, and brought to the city 
market. His steward, Sam Fraunces, pounced upon the fish 
with the speed of an osprey, delighted that he had secured a 
delicacy agreeable to the palate of his chief, and careless of the 
expense, for which the President had often rebuked him. 

When the fish was served Washington suspected the steward 
had forgotten his order about expenditure for the table and said 
to Fraunces, who stood at his post at the sideboard, "What 
fish is this?" "A shad, sir, a very fine shad," the steward 
answered. "I know Your Excellency is particularly fond of 
this kind of fish, and was so fortunate as to procure this one — 
the only one in market, sir, the first of the season." " The price, 
sir, the price?" asked Washington, sternly. " Three — three 
dollars," stammered the conscience-stricken steward. "Take it 
away," thundered the chief, " take it away, sir. It shall never 
be said that my table set such an example of luxury and extrava- 
gance." Poor Fraunces tremblingly did as he was told, and the 
first shad of the season was carried away untouched to be speedily 
discussed in the servants' dining room. 

Although the Farmer of Mount Vernon was much retired from 
the business world, he was by no means inattentive to the prog- 



4 oo DOING RIGHT 

ress of public affairs. When the post bag arrived, he would 
select his letters and lay them aside for reading in the seclusion 
of his library. The newspapers he would peruse while taking his 
single cup of tea (his only supper) and read aloud passages of 
peculiar interest, remarking the matter as he went along. He 
read with distinctness and precision. These evenings with his 
family always ended at precisely nine o'clock, when he bade 
every one good night and retired to rest, to rise again at four 
and renew the same routine of labor and enjoyment. 

Washington's last days, like those that preceded them in the 
course of a long and well-spent life, were devoted to constant and 
careful employment. His correspondence both at home and 
abroad was immense. Yet no letter was unanswered. One of 
the best-bred men of his time, Washington deemed it a grave 
offense against the rules of good manners and propriety to leave 
letters unanswered. He wrote with great facility, and it would 
be a difficult matter to find another who had written so much, 
who had written so well. General Harry Lee once observed to 
him, " We are amazed, sir, at the vast amount of work you get 
through." Washington answered, "Sir, I rise at four o'clock, 
and a great deal of my work is done while others sleep." 

He was the most punctual of men, as we said. To this ad- 
mirable quality of rising at four and retiring to rest at nine at all 
seasons, this great man owed his ability to accomplish mighty 
labors during his long and illustrious life. He was punctual in 
everything and made every one about him punctual. So careful 
a man delighted in always having about him a good time-keeper. 
In Philadelphia, the first President regularly walked up to his 
watchmaker's to compare his watch with the regulator. At 
Mount Vernon the active yet punctual farmer invariably con- 
sulted the dial when returning from his morning ride, and before 
entering his house. 

The affairs of the household took order from the master's 
accurate and methodical arrangement of time. Even the fisher- 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 4Ql 

man on the river watched for the cook's signal when to pull in 
shore and deliver his catch in time for dinner. 

The establishment of Mount Vernon employed a perfect army 
of domestics ; yet to each one was assigned special duties, and 
from each one strict performance was required. There was no 
confusion where there was order, and the affairs of this estate, 
embracing thousands of acres and hundreds of dependents, were 
conducted with as much ease, method, and regularity as the 
affairs of a homestead of average size. 

Mrs. Washington was an accomplished housewife of the olden 
time, and she gave constant attention to all matters of her 
household, and by her skill and management greatly con- 
tributed to the comfort and entertainment of the guests who 
enjoyed the hospitality of her home. 

The best charities of life were gathered round Washington 
in the last days at Mount Vernon. The love and veneration of a 
whole people for his illustrious services, his generous and untiring 
labors in the cause of public utility ; his kindly demeanor to his 
family circle, his friends, and numerous dependents ; his courte- 
ous and cordial hospitality to his guests, many of them strangers 
from far distant lands ; these charities, all of which sprang from 
the heart, were the ornament of his decHning years and granted 
the most sublime scene in nature, when human greatness reposes 
upon human happiness. 

On the morning of the 17th of December, 1799, the General 
was engaged in making some improvements in the front of Mount 
Vernon. As was usual with him, he carried his own compass, 
noted his observations, and marked out the ground. The day 
became rainy, with sleet, and the improver remained so long 
exposed to the inclemency of the weather as to be considerably 
wetted before his return to the house. About one o'clock he 
was seized with chilliness and nausea, but having changed his 
clothes he sat down to his indoor work. At night, on joining 
his family circle, he complained of a slight indisposition. Upon 



4 o2 DOING RIGHT 

the night of the following day, having borne acute suffering with 
composure and fortitude, he died. 

In person Washington was unique. He looked like no one 
else. To a stature lofty and commanding he united a form of the 
manliest proportions, and a dignified, graceful, and imposing 
carriage. In the prime of life he stood six feet two inches. 
From the period of the Revolution there was an evident bending 
in his frame so passing straight before, but the stoop came from 
the cares and toils of that arduous contest rather than from 
years. For his step was firm, his appearance noble and impres- 
sive long after the time when the physical properties of men are 
supposed to wane. 

A majestic height was met by corresponding breadth and firm- 
ness. His whole person was so cast in nature's finest mold as to 
resemble an ancient statue, all of whose parts unite to the per- 
fection of the whole. But with all its development of muscular 
power, Washington's form had no look of bulkiness, and so 
harmonious were its proportions that he did not appear so tall 
as his portraits have represented. He was rather spare than 
full during his whole life. 

The strength of Washington's arm was shown on several 
occasions. He threw a stone from the bed of the stream to the 
top of the Natural Bridge, Virginia, and another stone across the 
Rappahannock at Fredericksburg. The stone was said to be a 
piece of slate about the size of a dollar with which he spanned 
the bold river, and it took the ground at least thirty yards on the 
other side. Many have since tried this feat, but none have 
cleared the water. 

In 1772 some young men were contending at Mount Vernon 
in the exercise of pitching the bar. The Colonel looked on for a 
time, then grasping the missile in his master hand he whirled 
the iron through the air and it fell far beyond any of its former 
limits. " You see, young gentlemen," said the chief with a smile, 
" that my arm yet retains some portion of my early vigor." He 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 



403 




George Washington. 



4 o4 DOING RIGHT 

was then in his fortieth year and probably in the fullness of 
his physical powers. Those powers became rather me] lowed 
than decayed by time, for "his age was like lusty winter, frosty 
yet kindly," and up to his sixty-eighth year he mounted a horse 
with surprising agility and rode with ease and grace. Rickets, 
the celebrated equestrian, used to say, "I delight to see the Gen- 
eral ride and make it a point to fall in with him when I hear he is 
out on horseback — his seat is so firm, his management so easy 
and graceful that I who am an instructor in horsemanship would 
go to him and learn to ride." 

Bred in the vigorous school of frontier warfare, "the earth 
for his bed, his canopy the heavens," Washington excelled the 
hunter and woodsman in their athletic habits and in those trials 
of manhood which filled the hardy days of his early life. He was 
amazingly swift of foot, and could climb steep mountains seem- 
ingly without effort. Indeed in all the tests of his great physical 
powers he appeared to make little effort. When he overthrew 
the strong man of Virginia in wrestling, upon a day when many 
of the finest athletes were engaged in the contest, he had retired 
to the shade of a tree intent upon the reading of a book . It was 
only after the champion of the games strode through the ring 
calling for nobler antagonists, and taunting the reader with the 
fear that he would be thrown, that Washington closed his book. 
Without taking off his coat he calmly observed that fear did not 
enter his make-up ; then grappling with the champion he hurled 
him to the ground. "In Washington's lion-like grasp," said the 
vanquished wrestler, "I became powerless, and went down with 
a force that seemed to jar the very marrow in my bones." The 
victor, regardless of shouts at his success, leisurely retired to his 
shade, and again took up his book. 

Washington's powers were chiefly in his limbs. His frame was 
of equal breadth from the shoulders to the hips. His chest was 
not prominent but rather hollowed in the center. He never 
entirely recovered from a pulmonary affection from which he 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 405 

suffered in early life. His frame showed an extraordinary de- 
velopment of bone and muscle ; his joints were large, as were his 
feet ; and could a cast of his hand have been preserved, it would 
be ascribed to a being of a fabulous age. Lafayette said, 
"I never saw any human being with so large a hand as the 
General's." 

Of the awe and reverence which the presence of Washington 
inspired we have many records. "I stood," says one writer, 
" before the door of the Hall of Congress in Philadelphia when the 
carriage of the President drew up. It was a white coach, or 
rather of a light cream color, painted on the panels with beautiful 
groups representing the four seasons. As Washington alighted 
and, ascending the steps, paused on the platform, he was pre- 
ceded by two gentlemen bearing large white wands, who kept 
back the eager crowd that pressed on every side. At that 
moment I stood so near I might have touched his clothes ; but 
I should as soon have thought of touching an electric battery. 
I was penetrated with deepest awe. Nor was this the feeling of 
the schoolboy I then was. It pervaded, I believe, every human 
being that approached Washington ; and I have been told that 
even in his social hours, this feeling in those who shared them 
never suffered intermission. I saw him a hundred times after- 
ward but never with any other than the same feeling. The 
Almighty, who raised up for our hour of need a man so peculiarly 
prepared for its whole dread responsibility, seems to have put a 
stamp of sacredness upon his instrument. The first sight of the 
man struck the eye with involuntary homage and prepared 
everything around him to obey. 

" At the time I speak of he stood in profound silence and had 
the statue-like air which mental greatness alone can bestow. 
As he turned to enter the building, and was ascending the stair- 
case to the Congressional Hal], I glided along unseen, almost 
under the cover of the skirts of his dress, and entered into the 
lobby of the House which was in session to receive him. 



4o6 DOING RIGHT 

" At Washington's entrance there was a most profound silence. 
House, lobbies, gallery, all were wrapped in deepest attention. 
And the souls of the entire assemblage seemed peering from their 
eyes as the noble figure deliberately and unaffectedly advanced 
up the broad aisle of the hall between ranks of standing senators 
and members, and slowly ascended the steps leading to the 
speaker's chair. 

"The President having seated himself remained in silence, 
and the members took their seats, waiting for the speech. No 
house of worship was ever more profoundly still than that large 
and crowded chamber. 

"Washington was dressed precisely as Stuart has painted 
him in full-length portrait — in a full suit of the richest black 
velvet, with diamond knee buckles and square silver buckles set 
upon shoes japanned with most scrupulous neatness ; black silk 
stockings, his shirt ruffled at the breast and waist, a light dress 
sword, his hair profusely powdered, fully dressed, so as to pro- 
ject at the sides, and gathered behind in a silk bag ornamented 
with a large rose of black ribbon. He held his cocked hat, which 
had a large black cockade on one side of it, in his hand, as he 
advanced toward the chair, and when, seated, laid it on the 
table. 

"At length thrusting his hand within the side of his coat, he 
drew forth a roll of manuscript which he opened, and rising read 
in a rich, deep, full, sonorous voice his opening address to Con- 
gress. His enunciation was deliberate, justly emphasized, very 
distinct, and accompanied with an air of deep solemnity as 
being the utterance of a mind conscious of the whole responsibility 
of its position, but not oppressed by it. There was ever about 
the man something which impressed one with the conviction 
that he was exactly and fully equal to what he had to do. He 
was never hurried ; never negligent ; but seemed ever prepared 
for the occasion, be it what it might. In his study, in his parlor, 
at a levee, before Congress, at the head of the army, he seemed 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 407 

ever to be just what the situation required. He possessed, in a 
degree never equaled by any human being I ever saw, the strong- 
est, most ever-present sense of propriety." 

In the early part of Washington's administration, great com- 
plaints were made by political opponents of the aristocratic and 
royal demeanor of the President. Particularly, these complaints 
were about the manner of his receiving visitors. In a letter 
Washington gave account of the origin of his levees: "Before 
the custom was established," he wrote, " which now accommo- 
dates foreign characters, strangers, and others, who, from motives 
of curiosity, respect for the chief magistrate, or other cause, are 
induced to call upon me, I was unable to attend to any business 
whatever ; for gentlemen, consulting their own convenience 
rather than mine, were calling after the time I rose from break- 
fast, and often before, until I sat down to dinner. This, as I 
resolved not to neglect my public duties, reduced me to the choice 
of one of these alternatives : either to refuse visits altogether, or 
to appropriate a time for the reception of them. ... To please 
everybody was impossible. I, therefore, adopted that line of 
conduct which combined public advantage with private con- 
venience. . . . These visits are optional, they are made with- 
out invitation ; between the hours of three and four every Tues- 
day I am prepared to receive them. Gentlemen, often in great 
numbers, come and go, chat with each other, and act as they 
please. A porter shows them into the room, and they retire 
from it when they choose, without ceremony. At their first 
entrance they salute me, and I them, and as many as I can I 
talk to." 

An English gentleman after visiting President Washington 
wrote: "There was a commanding air in his appearance which 
excited respect and forbade too great a freedom toward him, 
independently of that species of awe which is always felt in the 
moral influence of a great character. In every movement, too, 
there was a polite gracefulness equal to any met with in the most 



4 o8 DOING RIGHT 

polished individuals of Europe, and his smile was extraordinarily 
attractive. . . . " It struck me no man could be better formed 
for command. A stature of six feet, a robust but well-propor- 
tioned frame calculated to stand fatigue, without that heaviness 
which generally attends great muscular strength and abates 
active exertion, displayed bodily power of no mean standard. 
A light eye and full — the very eye of genius and reflection. His 
nose appeared thick, and though it befitted his other features was 
too coarsely and strongly formed to be the handsomest of its 
class. His mouth was like no other I ever saw : the lips firm, 
and the underjaw seeming to grasp the upper with force, as if its 
muscles were in full action when he sat still." 

Such Washington appeared to those who saw and knew him. 
Such he remains to our vision. His memory is held by us in 
undying honor. Not only his memory alone but also the mem- 
ory of his associates in the struggle for American Independence. 
Homage we should have in our hearts for those patriots and 
heroes and sages who with humble means raised their native 
land — now our native land — from the depths of dependence, 
and made it a free nation. And especially for Washington, who 
presided over the nation's course at the beginning of the great 
experiment in self-government and, after an unexampled career 
in the service of freedom and our human kind, with no dimming 
of august fame, died calmly at Mount Vernon — the Father of 
his Country. 

— G. W. Parke Custis. Adapted by H. W. Mabee. 



THE FIRST PLACE 

First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his country- 
men. 

— Henry Lee. 



TALLEYRAND AND ARNOLD 409 

1. Describe the scene when Washington retired from office. 

2. How did he occupy himself after this? 

3. Describe his personal appearance. 

4. How did he impress people who saw him ? 

5. Tell some of the stories related about him. 

6. What were some of Washington's rules of life ? 

7. Mention his leading traits of character. 



A PATRIOT'S WORDS 

The very idea of the power and right of the people to establish 
government presupposes the duty of every individual to obey 
the established government. 

The propitious smiles of heaven can never be expected on a 
nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right, which 
heaven itself has ordained. 

Where is the man to be found who wishes to remain indebted 
for the defense of his own person and property to the exertions, 
the bravery, and the blood of others, without making one gener- 
ous effort to repay the debt of honor and gratitude? 

It is incumbent upon every person of every description to con- 
tribute to his country's welfare. 

— George Washington. 

TALLEYRAND AND ARNOLD 

There was a day when Talleyrand arrived in Havre, direct 
from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the French Revolution. 
Pursued by the bloodhounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of 
every wreck of property and power, Talleyrand secured a passage 
to America, in a ship about to sail. He was a beggar and a 
wanderer to a strange land, to earn his daily bread by daily 
labor. 

"Is there an American staying at your house?" he asked the 
landlord of the hotel. "lam bound across the water, and would 
like a letter to a person of influence in the New World." 



4io DOING RIGHT 

The landlord hesitated a moment, then replied — "There is a 
gentleman upstairs, either from America or Britain, but whether 
an American or an Englishman, I cannot tell." 

He pointed the way, and Talleyrand — who, in his life, was 
Bishop, Prince, and Prime Minister — ascended the stairs. A 
miserable suppliant, he stood before the stranger's door, knocked 
and entered. 

In the far corner of the dimly lighted room, sat a man of some 
fifty years, his arms folded and his head bowed on his breast. 
From a window directly opposite, a flood of light poured over 
his forehead. His eyes looked from beneath the downcast 
brows, and gazed on Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and search- 
ing expression. 

His face was striking in outline, the mouth and chin indicative 
of an iron will. His form vigorous, even with the snows of fifty 
winters, was clad in a dark but rich and distinguished costume. 

Talleyrand advanced — stated that he was a fugitive — and 
under the impression that the gentleman before him was an 
American, he solicited his kind and feeling offices. He poured 
forth his history in eloquent French and broken English. 

" I am a wanderer — an exile. I am forced to fly to the New 
World, without a friend or home. You are an American ! Give 
me, then, I beseech you, a letter of yours, so that I may be able 
to earn my bread. I am willing to toil in any manner — the 
scenes of Paris have seized me with such horror, that a life of 
labor would be a paradise to a career of luxury in France. You 
will give me a letter to one of your friends ? A gentleman, like 
you, has doubtless many friends." 

The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talleyrand 
never forgot, he retreated towards the door of the next chamber, 
his eyes looking still from beneath his darkened brow. He 
spoke as he retreated backward — his voice was full of meaning. 

"I am the only man born in the New World who can raise his 
hand to God and say, I have not a friend — not one in all 



TALLEYRAND AND ARNOLD 411 

America!" Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming sadness 
of the look which accompanied these words. 

"Who are you?" he cried, as the strange man retreated to 
the next room ; " your name ? " 

"My name," he replied with a smile that had more mockery 
than joy in its convulsive expression — "my name is Benedict 
Arnold !" He was gone. Talleyrand sank into a chair, gasping 
the words — " Arnold the Traitor /" 

Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth, another Cain, 
with the wanderer's mark upon his brow. Even in that secluded 
room at that inn at Havre, his crimes found him out, and forced 
him to tell his name — that name the synonym of infamy. 

The last twenty years of his life are covered with a cloud, from 
whose darkness but a few gleams of light flashed out upon the 
page of history. 

The manner of his death is not exactly known. But we cannot 
doubt that he died utterly friendless — that remorse pursued 
him to the grave, whispering John Andre in his ear, and that 
the memory of his course of glory gnawed like a canker at his 
heart, murmuring f orever — " True to your country, what 
might you have been, oh ! Arnold the Traitor /" 

— Selected. 



Ye are clean, but not all. For he knew him that should 
betray him; therefore said he, ye are not all clean. 

— John xiii. 10, 11. 



1 . Who was Talleyrand ? 

2. Where was he going? 

3. What did he wish? 

4. To whom was he sent ? 

5. What had Arnold done ? 

6. How was he punished ? 



4 i2 DOING RIGHT 



A HOST IN THE SUNSHINE 

Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune, 
I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, 

A host in the sunshine, an army in June, 

The people God sends us to set our hearts free. 

The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell, 
The orioles whistled them out of the wood, 

And all of their singing was " Earth, it is well," 

And all of their dancing was, "Life, thou art good !" 

— Bliss Carman. 



THE STORY OF A GREAT ARTIST 

At Caprese, a little town in Italy near Arezzo, the ruins of a 
castle are still standing on a rocky mountain ledge. One room 
in the castle is interesting to every lover of art, for it contains a 
tablet stating that Michelangelo was born there in 1475. At the 
time of his birth his father, who was governor of Caprese, was 
making an official visit to the town. As soon as his duties were 
over he set out on the return journey to Florence with his wife 
and infant son. They traveled as far as Settignano, where the 
little Michelangelo was left with a nurse, while his parents 
went on to Florence. 

Michelangelo's nurse, or foster mother, was the daughter of a 
stone mason, and her husband followed the same calling. The 
child played among the huge blocks of stone in the quarries, 
and thus became familiar from infancy with the first stages of 
the sculptor's art. Perhaps some faint memories of his childish 
impressions came back to him years later, when he spent many 
months at Carrara choosing marble for statues. Even during 



THE STORY OF A GREAT ARTIST 413 

his childish days at Settignano, he began to show a love for 
drawing, and for many years his first designs remained on the 
walls of the stone mason's cottage. 

After a few years, the boy was taken to Florence and sent to 
school. There he had as a comrade, Francesco Granacci, who 
became his lifelong friend. Granacci was studying with Domen- 
ico Ghirlandajo, one of the artists who had been honored by a 
commission to paint frescoes in the Sistine Chapel at Rome. 
During school hours Michelangelo's heart was not in his studies, 
for he kept wishing the time to pass, so that he might see the new 
drawings which Granacci brought him every day. He worked 
over these in his spare moments, each day wishing more and more 
to study art with his friend. Together they spent many hours 
watching the artists at work in the studios, and his heart would 
be filled with such longing that he pleaded with his father to 
let him enter Ghirlandajo's studio. But Ludovico Buonarroti 
would not listen to his son, for he had other plans and was much 
opposed to having him enter upon a profession so poorly paid 
and so uncertain of success. 

At length Ghirlandajo himself became interested in Michel- 
angelo, and he persuaded Ludovico to apprentice the boy to 
him for three years, agreeing to pay a certain sum for his serv- 
ices, which was an unusual thing at the time. Ghirlandajo 
was then employed in restoring the choir of Santa Maria Novella, 
and the young apprentice was launched immediately into im- 
portant work. He proved an apt and ready assistant, and found 
time to make many drawings. One of these, representing Ghir- 
landajo and his pupils at work on a scaffolding, called forth from 
the astonished master these words of admiration, — "He under- 
stands more of art than I do myself !" 

Ghirlandajo was obliged once again to make a similar con- 
fession, to himself at least, under very trying circumstances. 
It happened in this way. One day while a comrade was copying 
a drawing by Ghirlandajo, Michelangelo watched him for a 



414 DOING RIGHT 

moment, and then seizing a pencil corrected the master's draw- 
ing with one skillful stroke, much to the discomfiture of Ghir- 
landajo, who stood by. From that time Michelangelo was not 
allowed to use the drawings lent to the other pupils. 

The first picture that Michelangelo painted was an enlarged 
copy of Martin Schongauer's Temptation of St. Anthony. He 
worked on it very faithfully, visited the markets to study the 
scales of fish, and in every way he tried to paint the details of 
the picture with utmost truthfulness. When the work was 
finished, it attracted a good deal of attention, and Ghirlandajo 
was proud to claim it as a product of his studio. 

After Michelangelo had studied with Ghirlandajo about a 
year, it happened that Lorenzo de' Medici, who had just estab- 
lished a school in his palace gardens for the benefit of the young 
artists of Florence, asked Ghirlandajo to recommend two of his 
pupils most worthy to enjoy the privilege of studying there. 
Francesco Granacci and Michelangelo were chosen by their 
master. The statues and casts in the Medici gardens and the 
noble examples of Greek art that adorned Lorenzo's palace 
awakened Michelangelo's enthusiasm, and he made as rapid 
progress in modeling as in painting. 

It was not long before he was at work carving from a block of 
marble that some one had given to him the masque, or face, of a 
faun. Lorenzo de' Medici was much interested in his work 
and watched its progress. When it was finished, he said to the 
young sculptor, "Why, since you have represented the faun as 
an old man, have you made his teeth so perfect?" The next 
day when the Duke walked in his gardens, he was interested 
to find that Michelangelo had benefited by his suggestion, and 
by a masterly blow with his chisel had broken a tooth in the 
faun's mouth in such a way as to give the effect of age. 

Lorenzo de' Medici, after showing Michelangelo many signs of 
his favor, invited him to become a member of his household. 
He also offered the young sculptor's father a position at the 



THE STORY OF A GREAT ARTIST 415 

court; but when Ludovico Buonarroti heard of the Duke's 
proposal, he was very angry and refused to have an interview 
with him. He had consented unwillingly to let his son study 
painting, and now that he wished to become a stone mason, he 
was determined to prevent it. Granacci, however, finally 
prevailed upon him to see the Duke, and he was so pleased by 
Lorenzo's courtesy that he declared himself ready to do anything 
for such a master. Thus Michelangelo, at a most impressionable 
age, was thrown into surroundings admirably suited to his de- 
velopment as an artist. He sat at Lorenzo's table, often at the 
Duke's side, wearing a violet-colored mantle, and enjoying the 
conversation of the brilliant men -who gathered there. The 
young artist heard their learned discussions on art, literature, 
and philosophy ; and his pictures ' and his sonnets show the 
influence of this classic learning and culture. Nevertheless, the 
poetry of Dante and the sermons of the great Florentine preacher, 
Savonarola, stirred his soul far more than the elegant discourses 
at Lorenzo's table. 

Michelangelo did not give up his study of painting, although 
he enjoyed sculpture more. He spent many months copying 
some great frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel. It was while he 
was at work there that a fellow-pupil at the Medici gardens, who 
was jealous of Lorenzo's admiration for his comrade, became 
enraged at some haughty criticism made by Michelangelo, and 
struck him a blow upon the nose that disfigured him for life. 

The golden days of Lorenzo's palace came to an end in 1492, 
owing to the death of the Duke. His successor, Piero de' 
Medici, cared little for art. Michelangelo left the palace, and 
began to work in a studio in his father's house, where he re- 
mained for two years. 

In the winter of 1494 a heavy snowstorm in Florence was the 
occasion of the artist's returning to the Medici palace. Piero de' 
Medici, who had not thought before of employing Michelangelo, 
sent for him to fashion a statue of snow, in order to satisfy a 



416 



DOING RIGHT 




THE STORY OF A GREAT ARTIST 417 

whim and entertain his guests. As a reward for this work, the 
sculptor was given his old rooms and a seat at the Duke's table ; 
but he did not find congenial spirits there. 

Piero de' Medici's reign was short, for Florence was soon 
involved in civil war. The Medici were driven out, and Michel- 
angelo was obliged to flee. He went to Venice and then to 
Bologna, where he stayed some time, owing to a curious cir- 
cumstance. It was a law of the city that every stranger entering 
the town should provide himself with a little seal of red wax, to 
be carried on the thumb of the right hand. Michelangelo had 
neglected to do this, and not having the money to pay the fine 
imposed upon him, he would have been thrown into prison had 
he not excited the interest of one of the magistrates, who invited 
him to his home, and kept him there for two years. He received 
commissions for work at Bologna, but the local sculptors were 
jealous and persecuted him until he went back to Florence. 

Between 1500 and 1508 Michelangelo painted a Holy Family 
for his friend Agnolo Doni. The picture has been injured by 
attempts to restore it, but in the masterly composition, and the 
admirably drawn nude figures in the background, it is a prophecy 
of his later work in the Sistine Chapel. 

Sculpture occupied most of Michelangelo's energies for a 
number of years, but in 1504 he engaged in a competition with 
Leonardo da Vinci for the decoration of the Council Hall of the 
Palazzo Vecchio. Leonardo was then over fifty years old and was 
the acknowledged master in all Italy. To challenge him was a 
daring and exciting thing for a man under thirty to do, but 
Michelangelo was eager to try his powers on some great work. 
The cartoon which he designed presented an episode in the war 
with Pisa, and showed a band of soldiers, while bathing in the 
Arno River, suddenly warned by a trumpet call of the approach 
of the enemy. The various groups, dashing out of the water, 
clambering up the steep banks, dressing and fastening on their 
armor, were represented with remarkable knowledge of the 



4i$ DOING RIGHT 

human figure ; and the great Leonardo found in the young 
Florentine a powerful rival. 

Michelangelo was provided with a hall in which to paint his 
cartoon, but he suffered trying interruptions. In 1505 he was 
caUed to Rome by Pope Julius II. who commissioned him to 
build his mausoleum. This was never finished, though Michel- 
angelo began the work then, and for forty years was so harassed 
by it that he said, "My youth has been lost, bound hand and 
foot to this tomb.'' A year later he escaped from Rome for a 
time and finished the cartoon. It suffered the same fate as 
Leonardo's, and we are indebted to San Gallo's copy and to 
engravings for our knowledge of it. 

Notwithstanding his success with the cartoon of Pisa. Michel- 
angelo did not claim to be a painter by profession. When 
Pope Julius II ordered him to lay down his chisel and go to 
Rome to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, he was unwilling 
to undertake the task. He advised the Pope to engage Raphael 
instead; but no excuses were accepted, and. he was obliged to 
execute the commission. 

The Sistine Chapel is a part of the Vatican, and was built 
in 1473. by Pope Sixtus IV. for whom it was named. The 
great fresco painters of Florence had decorated the walls with 
scenes from the fives of Moses and Christ ; but the ceiling re- 
mained unadorned, until Pope Julius II commanded Michelangelo 
to take up the work. He began to make his designs in 1508. 
The original contract called for frescoes representing the twelve 
prophets in the lunettes (the semicircular spaces over the win- 
dows), and ornamental designs in the other spaces of the vaulted 
ceiling ; but the artist persuaded the Pope that this scheme of 
decoration was inadequate to the needs of the building, and 
proposed another, which was carried out. 

The space to be covered with decorations included six lunettes 
on each of the long walls of the rectangular building, the pointed 
arches above the lunettes, the spaces between these arches, and 



THE STORY OF A GREAT ARTIST 419 

finally the vaulted ceiling above. In the lunettes and pointed 
arches Michelangelo painted family groups, representing the 
ancestors of Christ, from Abraham to Joseph ; and in the spaces 
between the arches were painted Jewish prophets and pagan 
sibyls, attended by angels, sitting on thrones and looking forward 
to the coming of the Redeemer. The ceiling space was subdivided 
by moldings and cornices, painted in such a way as to represent 
an architectural framework adorned with a wealth of ornament. 

Through the middle of the ceiling the artist represented a long, 
narrow space, divided by arches and bounded by what seemed to 
be a marble cornice, from which arches appeared to spring. 
This cornice was supported by boy angels in groups of two, and 
above them were seated figures of fauns, separated by medallions. 
The long, narrow space was divided into nine compartments, 
in which were painted scenes from Old Testament history. 
Beginning with the fresco nearest the altar, the subjects are as 
follows : the Separation of Light from Darkness, the Creation of 
the Sun and Moon, the Separation of the Land and Sea, the Crea- 
tion of Adam, the Creation of Eve, the Fall and the Banishment 
from Paradise, the Sacrifice of Noah, the Deluge, and the Drunken- 
ness of Noah. These principal parts of the composition deal 
with the creation and the sins of man, and the rest points to the 
redemption of the race by the coming of Christ. Besides all 
the spaces mentioned, there were four corner arches, and in 
these were symbolic groups, — the Brazen Serpent, the Death 
of Raman, Judith and Holof ernes, and David and Goliath. 

After his designs had been made, Michelangelo was not able 
to begin his work immediately. The scaffolding which had been 
constructed for his use was unsuitable, and he was obliged to 
plan a new one, which was so skillfully arranged that it has 
served as a model for such structures ever since. Day after 
day he worked on a platform fifty feet above the pavement, 
with his head thrown back in such a strained position that long 
after he had finished the work he could not read unless he held 



42o DOING RIGHT 

his book over his head. " Backward I strain me like a Syrian 
bow," he wrote in a sonnet to a friend at this time. 

Not many days after he began the decorations he went to the 
Pope in despair, saying, "I told your Holiness that I am no 
fresco painter, and it is true, for all my work is ruined." His 
discouragement was caused by a mold which incrusted his 
work; but it proved to be nothing serious, and disappeared 
when the plaster was dry. He went on with the frescoes, often 
receiving visits from the Pope, who was so interested in the 
progress of the work that he had a ladder built, by which he 
might ascend to the scaffolding. He finished his work in the 
Sistine Chapel in 1 5 1 2 . 

Although on the Sistine ceiling there are over three hundred 
figures, varying in size from the little boy angels that support 
the cornices to the colossal prophets and sibyls that would be 
eighteen feet high if standing, there is the most perfect harmony 
and unity in the vast composition. These heroic figures are 
hardly equaled in the world of art for majesty and grandeur. 

The Sistine frescoes have been much injured by age, by 
cleansing under laborers' hands, and by the explosion of a powder 
magazine at the Castle of St. Angelo in 1798. The plastering 
has cracked in many places, and in some parts it has fallen down ; 
and the color has also been impaired. But the work even in its 
ruins commands reverence as the masterpiece of one of the 
mightiest intellects that the world has ever known. In it Michel- 
angelo revealed his qualities as an artist at their highest and 
noblest. He was able to conceive vast and magnificent designs, 
and he had the profound knowledge and poetic imagination that 
enabled him to execute them in a marvelous way. It was he 
who taught the artists of the Renaissance what the grand and 
sublime in art meant, and thus he raised art to a higher plane. 
The frescoes of Raphael, and all the most impressive works of 
the age, show that he opened the eyes of his contemporaries to a 
larger vision. 



THE STORY OF A GREAT ARTIST 



421 




•O ° 

* I 

5-3 

M .a 
en ^ 

°* 

H 5 



422 DOIXG RIGHT 

Twenty years after the Sistine ceiling frescoes were finished, 
Michelangelo was at work again in the same place. The inter- 
vening years had been stormy ones, for he had been beset by 
obstacles of the most annoying sort in earning out his work. 
He had suffered many anxieties on account of his family; he 
had sorrowed bitterly over the misfortunes of Florence ; and 
he had been exiled after trying to aid his city in an unavailing 
attempt to throw off her yoke. 

When Michelangelo was commanded by Pope Clement YH 
to paint the Last Judgment, he was nearly sixty years old. His 
life had been full of sorrow, and his mind had been fed on the 
writings of Plato and Dante, and on the prophecies of Savonarola. 
The Last Judgment reflects his profound meditations on life and 
death. He treated the subject in an original way, and rendered 
it terrible in its dramatic power. 

Though the years preceding the painting of the Last Judgment 
were full of trouble and disappointment, those in which he 
executed it were peaceful and happy for Michelangelo. Then 
he enjoyed the friendship of Yittoria Colonna, the widow of the 
Marquis of Pescara. who was killed in the battle of Pavia many 
years before. Michelangelo's life had been a solitary one, with 
"no wife but his art'' ; and his nature was so sensitive, proud, 
and unapproachable that he had few friends. Yet he was capa- 
ble of great loyalty and affection, and in Yittoria Colonna he 
found a sympathetic spirit to whom he could reveal himself 
and be understood. She was a poet and a woman of influence 
in her day. She belonged to the devoted group of men and 
women in Italy who, seeing the corruptions in the Church and 
in society, worked zealously to bring about reforms. Though 
they still remained loyal to the Roman Church, they helped to 
sow the seeds of the Reformation, Yittoria herself was suspected 
of heresy, and was obliged to leave Rome in 1541. 

This friendship sweetened the life of Michelangelo, whose 
heart had been wounded by jealousy and discords for so long. 



THE STORY OF A GREAT ARTIST 423 

He wrote many sonnets to Vittoria Colonna. These and his 
letters to her show the gracious influence of her spirit. After 
her departure from Rome, they met again in the next year, and 
five years afterward she died. 

Michelangelo was not able to nurse in idleness his sorrow at 
the loss of his friend, for important work pressed hard upon him. 
Pope Paul III commissioned him to decorate a new chapel in 
the Vatican, named the Pauline Chapel. The frescoes represent 
the Conversion of St. Paul and the Crucifixion of St. Peter; but 
they are now in such a mutilated condition that it is impossible 
to judge of them. 

The Pauline frescoes were Michelangelo's last works in 
painting. He lived fifteen years longer, and after all his great 
contemporaries had ended their labors, herculean tasks awaited 
him. His health was poor, and he suffered a good deal. At 
night, when sleep forsook him, he would put on a cap with a 
candle attached to the front of it, and chip away at a marble 
Christ upon which he had been working for many years. 

On the evening of the eighteenth of February, 1564, Michel- 
angelo spoke his last words, saying, — '" I give my soul to God, 
my body to the earth, and my worldly possessions to my nearest 
of kin, charging them to remember the sufferings of Jesus 
Christ." 

The Pope and the Romans determined that his body should 
remain in Rome, and they hastened to bury it in the Church of 
the Holy Apostles ; but his nephew secretly removed it, and 
sent it to Florence. It was then conducted by the Florentine 
artists to Santa Croce, in a torchlight procession, followed by 
throngs of citizens. Some days after, memorial services were 
held in the Church of San Lorenzo, upon the facade of which 
Michelangelo had worked for many years ; and later a monu- 
ment was erected to his memory in the Church of Santa 
Croce. 

— Colonna Murray Dallin. Adapted. 



424 DOING RIGHT 



Art 


A GIFT OF GOD 

is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory. 
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 



i. How did Michelangelo spend his early life? 

2. What did he wish to do? 

3. Who became a good friend ? 

4. What lines of work did he follow ? 

5. Tell about his work in the Sistine Chapel. 

6. What was his last piece of work? 

7. What does Longfellow say about Art? 



FROM COWARDICE TO COURAGE 



Two of His Apostles were a very heavy burden on Jesus' 
heart on the last evening of His life : Judas, who was about to 
betray Him, and Peter, who was about to deny Him. He made 
one last effort to save Judas and to set Peter on his guard by 
saying to the Apostles, while they sat at meat with Him, "Verily 
I say unto you that one of you will betray me." No words 
could have been more solemn and searching. But Judas went 
out into the darkness to complete his treachery, and Peter re- 
mained just as self-confident and heedless as before. 

Once more Jesus sought to startle the latter into watchfulness 
by saying: " Simon, Simon, behold Satan asked to have you 
that he might sift you as wheat, but I made supplication for 
thee that thy faith fail not ; and do thou, when once thou hast 
turned again, stablish the brethren." But it was without effect. 
Peter was full of other thoughts ; he had a sword, and had made 
up his mind to use it. 

When they had left the upper room and were on their wav to 



FROM COWARDICE TO COURAGE 



425 




426 DOING RIGHT 

the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus said to the eleven, "All ye 
shall be offended in me this night ; for it is written, ' I will smite 
the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered 
abroad.' " Most of them shrank together in silence. They were 
indeed a crowd of frightened sheep. But Peter was as bold and 
unforeseeing as ever. "If all shall be offended in thee," he cried, 
"I shall never be offended." Then said Jesus plainly, "Verily 
I say unto thee, that this night before the cock crow thou shalt 
deny me thrice." But he would not believe that he could 
be so dastardly, and replied, "Even if I must die with thee, yet 
will I not deny thee." 

All the other Apostles echoed his saying, and made the same 
promise. They sought to strengthen the flickering flame of 
their courage at his fire, which seemed to blaze so brightly. Alas, 
it burnt too briskly to last long. His were vain words. It 
must have wearied and saddened the Lord to hear them. 

One final warning was granted to Peter. When they had 
reached the garden, Jesus, sore oppressed in spirit, bade them, 
together with James and John, keep watch for a little while. 
But when the Master came back from His first prayer, the 
struggle still heavy upon Him, there lay the three asleep, heed- 
less alike of spiritual and earthly enemies. Jesus roused them, 
and warned Peter in especial, flashing, as it were, a lantern in his 
sleep-filled eyes, when He said, "Watch and pray, lest ye enter 
into temptation." But Peter slept again; the eyes of his soul 
were heavy too. 

When the band of soldiers entered the garden, in a sudden 
fit of anger he drew his sword and struck a wild blow at one of 
the high priest's men, Malchus by name. It was an ill-aimed 
stroke, for it only grazed the man's head and cut off his ear. 
And it was sheer madness. Had swords been drawn, every 
Apostle might have been cut down. 

Jesus rebuked the Apostle for his folly. That was the last 
effort of Peter's courage. He had meant to stand firm, he could 



FROM COWARDICE TO COURAGE 427 

nerve himself to fight ; but he had not learned the nobler courage 
which neither resists nor flees. Forbidden to use a weapon, he 
felt himself at the mercy of the enemy. Panic seized him, and 
like the others he forsook Jesus and fled. 

That was shameful failure for one who had promised so much. 
But there was worse to follow. Both John and Peter soon 
stopped in their flight, and turned to see what had befallen 
Jesus. They traced Him to the high priest's house, and John, 
who had some acquaintance with the high priest, was able to 
gain admittance both for himself and for Peter, whom he saw 
lingering in the shadows near the gate. 

The gate opened into an archway which led directly into the 
courtyard, round which the house was built. Probably a 
corridor, raised a little, and open to the courtyard, ran round it, 
giving access to the different rooms. Though it was spring- 
time, the night air on the hills amid which Jerusalem stands was 
cold, and a fire was burning in the center of the open space, 
around which the servants of the high priest were gathered, tell- 
ing the maids the story of the night's exploit. 

As Peter entered, the woman who kept the door gave one keen 
glance at him and said, "Art thou also one of this man's dis- 
ciples?" The moment of the predicted temptation had come. 
Peter was weak and unprepared, shaken in nerve and uncertain 
in resolve. In an instant the lie was told. He answered, "I 
am not," and passed on to take a place by the fire, standing and 
warming himself like the others. He was challenged again, and 
again denied that he knew anything of the Nazarene. 

As he fingered and talked, the watchers around the fire viewed 
him with growing suspicion. When about an hour had passed, 
one of the high priest's servants, who was a kinsman of Malchus 
and therefore had cause to remember Peter as well as Jesus, said, 
"Did I not see thee in the garden with him?" And others, 
who had noticed Peter's northern accent, struck in, "Of a truth 
this man was also with him, for he is a Galilean." Then he 




428 DOING RIGHT 

denied a third time, and added oaths and curses, from which his 
lips had been so long kept pure ; for at all hazards he was bent 
on proving that he had no connection with Jesus. 

At this very moment the prisoner was led, along the corridor 
or across the courtyard, from the apartment of the high priest 
on one side of the house to the chamber on the other side, where 
the council had been hastily assembled. Peter's face was dis- 
tinct in the firelight, and his vehement words and oaths rang 
out sharply on the night air. The Lord, bound and guarded, 
could say no word ; but as He passed for a moment out of the 
shadow, He cast one look upon His Apostle. That look, so 
full of reproach and pity and love, broke the evil spell and recalled 
Peter to himself. Just then, a cock crew for the second time, and 
the words he had scorned to believe a few hours before, rushed 
back to his mind. Careless of what others thought, he broke 
into weeping, and, groping his way like a blind man, made for 
the gate. 

As in a lightning flash, he saw at one glance the greatness of 
his sin. He had denied his Master, his beloved Master, and 
that, too, after boasting that he at least would be found faith- 
ful, whoever failed. The last words his Lord had heard from 
his lips were this denial and its accompanying curse. 

We do not know how Peter spent the day of the crucifixion 
and the Sabbath following. Heartbroken, he hid himself away, 
ashamed to look his comrades in the face. 

But one at least did not forsake or shun him. John must 
have seen his sudden departure from the high priest's house, 
for he succeeded in finding and in comforting him ; so that when 
Mary Magdalene flew to tell the Apostles that the tomb was 
empty, it was Peter as well as John who rushed to see if her 
words were true. The worst of Peter's agony ended on that 
Resurrection Day, for the risen Lord sought him out. We know 
not what Peter said, or whether he only lay at the feet of his 
Master, speechless with shame and grief. But of this we art 



FROM COWARDICE TO COURAGE 429 

sure : Jesus comforted and cheered him, gave him the seal of 
forgiveness, and welcomed him as a friend once more, though 
He did not as yet restore him to his old place as an Apostle. 

From that day Peter was cleansed of his old boastfulness and 
rashness. Though his sin was forgiven, he could not forget his 
fall. Henceforth he stood ever on guard. He was soon to 
show how deeply he was changed. 

— R. C. Gillie. Adapted. 

B 

It is likely that the Apostles were held together after the 
tragedy of the cross by the leadership of St. Peter. It may have 
been to him first that the risen Lord appeared. On the even- 
ing of that day of wonder, when the two men of Emmaus hurried 
back to Jerusalem to tell the Apostles that they had seen the 
Lord, the Apostles replied, "He is risen indeed, and hath ap- 
peared to Peter." Their faith that day seems to have rested 
on the words of Peter. He was engaged in doing what he had 
been told to do: "When thou art converted, strengthen the 
brethren." He had been converted from despair to faith and 
joy, and he was strengthening the brethren. 

Thus it was Peter who proposed to the others, after the ascen- 
sion, to complete the number of the Twelve, that they might 
take up their work again. It was he, on the day of Pentecost, 
who was the spokesman of the Apostles, and declared boldly to 
all the people that Jesus, whom they had crucified, whom God 
had raised from the dead, was the Christ promised by the 
prophets, and long expected to be the savior of the world. 

Then, at the Beautiful Gate of the temple, Peter and John, 
in the name of Jesus, had made a lame man to walk, and the 
crowds which gathered in consequence were so great that the 
rulers of the city arrested the two Apostles. Peter and John, 
however, refused to promise to speak no more in the name of 
Jesus. So it was again, when the sudden death of Ananias 



430 DOING RIGHT 

and Sapphira had excited the people, and there were crowds in 
the street, Peter and Paul declared that they could not be silent. 
They would speak. 

So the days passed, and Peter and the others preached to all 
who would listen, and more and more believed and were added 
to the church, until the number was so great that the Jewish 
ministers, the priests, and the Pharisees became alarmed. They 
were afraid that all the Jews would become Christians, like St. 
Peter. One day there was a tumult made, and St. Stephen as 
he preached was seized and stoned to death, and the Christians 
were driven out of Jerusalem to save their lives. 

St. Philip went to Samaria, north of Jerusalem, where the 
people were of a religion which was hah Jewish and hah pagan. 
From there he went to Caesarea, where the people were of 
a religion which was altogether pagan. In these places he 
preached, and to them both St. Peter followed him and confirmed 
those whom Philip had baptized. Thus there began to come 
into the new Christian society those who had not been brought 
up in the Jewish Church. It became plain that Christianity was 
a new religion. 

The matter was debated at Jerusalem. St. Paul had been 
going about in Galatia freely preaching to all sorts of people, and 
taking them into the Christian society without requiring them 
to keep the laws of Moses. There was a division of opinion. 
Some held that Christianity was only a Jewish society, some 
held that it was an independent church. St. Peter spoke in the 
discussion. The Holy Spirit, he said, sent me in a vision to the 
centurion Cornelius at Caesarea, and I baptized him. It was the 
will of God. To this St. Paul added his experiences, telling how 
God had blessed those whom he had baptized without the laws of 
Moses. So they decided that one might be a Christian without 
beginning as a Jew. It was agreed that St. Paul should be a 
minister to the pagan people, and that St. Peter should be a 
minister to the Jewish people. 



FROM COWARDICE TO COURAGE 



431 




432 DOING RIGHT 

Thus St. Peter went about doing good. Men said that one 
time, in Jerusalem, he healed so many sick persons that the sick 
were brought out and laid on couches in the street, that at least 
the shadow of Peter passing by might fall on them, and heal 
them. 

Some years after the martyrdom of St. Stephen, persecution 
fell again upon the Christians in Jerusalem. St. James was 
slain with the sword. St. Peter was shut up in prison, and 
seemed likely to share the fate of his old friend. But in the 
night, the prison doors Were opened, and St. Peter was let out. 
He appeared in a company of Christians to their great amazement, 
as they were assembled to pray for his release. But he did not 
venture to stay longer in Jerusalem. He took up his residence 
in Caesarea. Thence, at last, he went to Rome, where according 
to tradition, he was put to death in company with St. Paul, 
dying for the faith as he had lived for it. Beside the place where 
he was martyred stands the great church which bears his name. 

— George Hodges. 



TO DIE FOR TRUTH 

To die for truth is not to die for one's country, but to die 
for the world. - Jean Paul Richter. 



i . What warnings did Jesus give Peter ? 

2. What was Peter's reply? 

3. What happened in the garden? 

4. Where did John and Peter go ? 

5. Give an account of Peter's denial of Jesus. 

6. Tell of Jesus' forgiveness of Peter. 

7. Who became leader of the Apostles? 

8. After Christ's ascension what did the Apostles do? 

9. What was the nature of the religion which they proclaimed? 

10. How were they persecuted ? 

11. How are we told Peter's life ended? 

12. What upheld the Apostles in all their trials? 



"THE CHRISTIANS TO THE LIONS" 433 



"THE CHRISTIANS TO THE LIONS!" 

There was great excitement in the Colosseum, for it was 
known that the Emperor Nero had. given orders that some of 
the condemned Christians should be given to the lions. There 
was a hush of expectation as the door of the dungeon was opened, 
and there entered a procession, consisting of a priest of Jupiter 
and several attendants of the temple, followed by four guards 
conducting an elderly man with his two sons, lads of seventeen 
or eighteen. 

They made their way across the arena, and stopped before 
the emperor. The priest approached the prisoners, holding out 
a small image of the god, and offered them their lives if they 
would worship it. All refused. They were then conducted 
back to the center of the arena, and the attendants, leaving 
them, filed out through the door. 

The old man laid his hands on the shoulders of his sons and 
began singing a hymn, in which they both joined. Their voices 
rose loud and clear in the silence of the amphitheater, and there 
was neither pause nor waver in the tone as the entrance to one 
of the cages at the other end of the arena was opened, and a lion 
and a lioness appeared. 

The animals stood hesitating as they looked round at the sea 
of faces ; then, encouraged by the silence, they stepped out, and 
side by side made the circuit of the arena. When they had 
completed the circle they again paused, and now for the first 
time turned their attention to the three figures standing in its 
center. For a minute they stood irresolute, and then, crouching 
low, crawled towards the old man and his sons. 

The spectators shuddered. Among them was Berk, a brave 
British lad, who had been brought a captive to Rome, and had 
been trained to be a gladiator by Scopus, a noted swordsman. 
He could view without emotion a contest of armed men, but he 



434 DOING RIGHT 

could not, like the population of Rome, see unarmed and unre- 
sisting men pulled down by wild beasts. 

There was now a dead silence in the crowded amphitheater, 
broken at last by a low sound as of a gasping breath. One 
voice alone continued the hymn, and soon that too ceased sud- 
denly. The tragedy was over, and the buzz of conversation 
and comment again broke out among the spectators. Cer- 
tainly these Christians knew how to die. 

A strong body of guards, provided with torches, entered. 
The lions were driven back to their dens, the bodies being left 
where they had fallen. Four batches of prisoners who were 
brought out, one after another, met with a similar fate. Then 
there was another pause. It was known that a girl of noble 
family was to be the last victim. 

Again the doors opened. A priest of Diana headed a pro- 
cession of white-robed attendants, and six virgins from the 
temple of Diana entered, followed by Ennia in the midst of a 
band of lictors. Even the hardened hearts of the spectators 
were moved by the youth and beauty of the young girl, who, 
dressed in white, advanced calmly between her guards, with a 
gentle, modest expression on her features. 

When the procession formed up before the emperor, she saluted 
him. The priest and the virgins surrounded her, and urged 
her to pay reverence to the statue of Diana. Pointing to her 
parents, they implored her for their sakes to recant. Pale as 
death, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, she shook her 
head quietly; "I cannot deny the Lord who died for me," she 
said. 

Nero himself rose from his seat. "Maiden," he said, "if 
not for your own sake, then for the sake of those who love you, 
I pray you cease from your obstinacy. How can a child like 
you know more than the wisest heads of Rome ? How can you 
deny the gods who have protected you and given victory to your 
country? I would fain spare you." 



"THE CHRISTIANS TO THE LIONS" 435 

"I am but a child, as you say, Caesar," Ennia replied. "I 
have no strength of rny own, but I am strong in the strength 
of Him I worship. He gave His life for me ; it is not much that 
I should give mine for Him." 

Nero sank back in his seat with an angry wave of his hand. 
He saw that the sympathy of the audience was with the prisoner, 
and would willingly have gained their approval by extending 
his clemency towards her. The procession now returned to the 
center of the arena, where the girls, weeping, took leave of Ennia, 
who soon stood alone, a slight, helpless figure, — in the sight of 
the great silent multitude. 

Nero had spoken in a low tone to one of his attendants. The 
door of another cage was opened, and a lion larger than any 
that had previously appeared entered the arena, saluting the 
spectators with a deep roar. As it did so, a tall figure, clad in 
a tunic, sprang forward from the group of attendants behind a 
strong barrier at the other end of the arena. It was Beric the 
Briton. He was armed only with a sword, which he had snatched 
from a soldier standing next to him. 

A burst of applause rose from the spectators. This was a 
novelty, and an excitement beyond what they had bargained 
for. They had been moved by the youth of the victim, and now 
the prospects of something even more exciting than the rending 
to pieces of a defenseless girl enlisted them in favor of her 
champion. Moreover, the Romans intensely admired feats of 
bravery, and that this captive should offer to face, single-handed, 
an animal that was known to be the most powerful of those in 
the amphitheater, rilled them with admiration. 

Accustomed as they were to gaze at athletes, they were struck 
with the physique and strength of this young Briton, whose 
muscles stood up massive and knotted through the white skin. 
" Let him fight ! " they shouted ; " let him fight ! " 

Nero waited till the acclamation ceased, then ordered the 
Hon to be driven back to its den, and said: "The people have 



436 DOING RIGHT 

spoken ; let their will be done. But we must not be unfair to 
the lion ; as the maiden was unarmed, so shall you stand un- 
armed before the Hon." 

The decision was received in silence by the spectators. It 
seemed a sentence of death to the young Briton, and the silence 
was succeeded by a low murmur of disapproval. Beric turned 
a little pale, but showed no other sign of emotion. 

"I accept the conditions," he said in a loud, steady voice; 
"it being understood that should I conquer, the damsel shall be 
free from all penalty, and shall be restored to her parents." 

"That is understood," Nero replied. With an inclination 
of his head to the emperor, and a wave of his hand to the specta- 
tors, Beric turned and walked across the arena to where his 
friend Scopus awaited him with a cloak. Wrapping himself 
in its ample folds, he walked back to the center of the arena. 
A murmur of surprise arose. Why should the Briton cumber 
his limbs with this garment ? 

Throwing off the cloak, he exclaimed, "You see I am un- 
armed. I have not*so much as a dagger." Then tearing off two 
broad strips from the edge of the garment, he twisted them into 
ropes, and formed a running noose in each. What was left of 
the cloak he threw over his arm, and signed to the attendants at 
the cage to open the door. 

"Oh, Beric, why have you thrown away your life in a useless 
attempt to save mine?" Ennia said, as he stood before her. 

"It may not be useless, Ennia. God has protected me through 
many dangers, and He will surely assist me now. Do you pray 
to Him for aid." 

The door of the den opened. Beric stepped a few paces 
towards it. The spectators cheered. They had understood 
his purpose in making the ropes — that he was to use his cloak 
as a retiarius used his net. There was to be a contest, then, not 
a mere slaughter. The Hon dashed out of its den with a sudden 
spring, made three or four leaps forward, and then paused with 






"THE CHRISTIANS TO THE LIONS" 437 

its eyes fixed on the lad standing in front of it, still and immov- 
able, in an easy pose, ready for action. 

Then it sank till its body nearly touched the ground, and be- 
gan to crawl with a stealthy, gliding motion towards him. More 
and more slowly it went, till it paused at a distance of some ten 
yards. For a few seconds it crouched motionless, save for a 
slow waving motion of its tail ; then with a sharp roar it sprang 
through the air. With a motion as quick Beric leaped aside. 

As it touched the ground he sprang across its loins and wrapped 
his cloak in many folds round its head, knotting the ends tightly. 
Then, as the Hon, recovering from its first surprise, sprang to its 
feet with a roar of anger and disgust, Beric was on his feet beside 
it. For a moment it strove to tear away the strange substance 
which enveloped its head. But Beric dropped the end of the 
noose over one of its forepaws, drew it tight, and with a sudden 
pull jerked the animal over on to its back. 

As it sprang up again the other forepaw was noosed, and it 
was again thrown over. This time, as it sprang to its feet, Beric 
struck it a heavy blow on the nose. The unexpected assault 
brought it down for a moment ; but mad with rage it sprang up 
and struck out in all directions at its invisible foe, leaping and 
bounding hither and thither. Beric easily avoided the onslaught, 
and taking every opportunity struck it three or four times with 
all his force on the ear, each time rolling it over and over. 

The last of these blows seemed to stun it, and it lay for a mo- 
ment immovable. Again Beric leaped upon it, coming down 
astride of its loins with all his weight, and seizing at once the 
two ropes. The Hon uttered a roar of dismay and pain, and 
struck at him first with one paw and then with the other. By 
his coolness and quickness, however, he escaped all the blows, 
and when the Hon seemed exhausted he jerked tightly the cords, 
twisting them behind the lion's back, and with rapid turns 
fastening them together. 

The Hon was helpless now. As it rolled over and over, utter- 



438 DOING RIGHT 

ing roars of vain fury, Beric snatched the cloth from its head, 
tore off another strip, twisted it, and without difficulty bound 
its hind legs together. Then he again wrapped it round the 
lion's head, and stood up breathless but victorious. A mighty 
shout shook the building. Never had such a feat been seen in 
the arena before. Men and women rose from their seats and 
waved their hands with frantic enthusiasm. 

Beric had not escaped altogether unhurt. As the lion had 
struck out at him, it had torn away a piece of flesh from his side, 
and the blood was streaming down over his white tunic. He 
now went up to Ennia, who was standing with closed eyes and 
hands clasped in prayer. She had seen nothing of the conflict, 
and had believed that Beric's death and her own were inevitable. 

"Ennia," he said, "God has saved us; the Hon is helpless 
now." And with these words he led her forth from the place 
that had been for both the very jaws of death. 

— George A. Henty. 



Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteous- 
ness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, 
quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, 
from weakness were made strong, waxed mighty in war, 
turned to flight armies of aliens. 

— Hebrews xi. 33-34. 



1 . What order did Nero give ? 

2 . How might the Christians have escaped ? 

3. Who was the last victim? 

4. What did the priest urge her to do ? 

5. How did she reply? 

6. Who came to her assistance ? 

7. What condition did Nero impose? 

8. Describe the way in which Beric overcame the lion. 

9. What did Beric say to Ennia? 

10. Why were the Christians willing to die ? 



OUR SERVICE 439 



OUR SERVICE 

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to 
present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, 
which is your spiritual service. And be not fashioned according 
to this world : but be ye transformed by the renewing of your 
mind, that ye may prove what is the good and acceptable and 
perfect will of God. 

For I say, through the grace that was given me, to every 
man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly 
than he ought to think; but so to think as to think soberly, 
according as God hath dealt to each man a measure of faith. 
For even as we have many members in one body, and all the 
members have not the same office : so we, who are many, 
are one body in Christ, and severally members one of another. 
And having gifts differing according to the grace that was 
given to us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according to the 
proportion of our faith; or ministry, let us give ourselves to 
our ministry ; or he that teacheth, to his teaching ; or he that 
exhorteth, to his exhorting : he that giveth, let him do it with 
liberality ; he that ruleth, with diligence ; he that showeth 
mercy, with cheerfulness. 

Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor that which is evil; 
cleave to that which is good. In love of the brethren be 
tenderly affectioned one to another; in honor preferring one 
another; in diligence not slothful; fervent in spirit; serving 
the Lord ; rejoicing in hope ; patient in tribulation ; con- 
tinuing stedfastly in prayer; communicating to the necessities 
of the saints ; given to hospitality. Bless them that persecute 
you; bless, and curse not. Rejoice with them that rejoice; 
weep with them that weep. Be of the same mind one toward 
another. Set not your mind on high things, but condescend to 
things that are lowly. Be not wise in your own conceits. 



44Q DOING RIGHT 

Render to no man evil for evil. Take thought for things honor- 
able in the sight of all men. If it be possible, as much as in 
you lieth, be at peace with all men. Avenge not yourselves, 
beloved, but give place unto the wrath of God: for it is written 
Vengeance belongeth unto me ; I will recompense, saith the 
Lord. But if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, 
give him to drink : for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire 
upon his head. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil 
with good. 

— Romans xn. 
Commit to memory the last paragraph. 



YOUTH'S PRAYER IN VERSE 

O Master, let me walk with Thee 
In lowly paths of service free ; 
Tell me Thy secret, help me bear 
The strain of toil, the fret of care. 

Help me the slow of heart to move 
By some clear, winning word of love ; 
Teach me the wayward feet to stay, 
And guide them in the homeward way. 

Teach me Thy patience ; still with Thee 
In closer, dearer company, 
In work that keeps faith sweet and strong ; 
In trust that triumphs over wrong, 

In hope that sends a shining ray 
Far down the future's broadening way, 
In peace that only Thou canst give. 
With Thee, O Master, let me live. 

— Washington Gladden. 



PART VIII 



A FIGHT WITH A DEMON 

John B. Gough was a distinguished lecturer on temperance. 
At one time he was a drunkard. In the story of his life, which 
he himself wrote, he gives an account of his struggle to reform, 
which reads as follows : 

Hitherto my career had been one of almost unmitigated woe ; 
for, with the exception of the days of my childhood, my whole 
life had been one perpetual struggle against poverty and misery 
in its worst forms. Thrown at a tender age upon the world, I 
was soon taught its hard lessons. Death had robbed me of my 
best earthly protector, and providence cast my lot in a land 
thousands of miles from the place of my birth. Temptation had 
assailed me, and, trusting to my own strength for support, I 
had fallen, — oh, how low ! In the midst of thousands, I was 
lonely ; and, abandoning hope, the only refuge which seemed open 
for me was the grave. A dark pall overhung that gloomy abode, 
which shut out every ray of hope ; and, although death to me 
would have been a "leap in the dark," I was willing to peril my 
immortal soul, and blindly rush into the presence of my Maker. 
Like a stricken deer, I had no communion with my kind. Over 
every door of admission into the society of my fellow men, the 
words, "No hope," seemed to be inscribed. Despair was my 
companion, and perpetual degradation appeared to be my al- 
lotted doom. I was intensely wretched, and this dreadful state 
of things was of my own bringing about. I had no one but my- 
self to blame for the sufferings I endured ; and, when I thought 
of what I might have been, these inflictions were awful beyond 
conception. Lower in the scale of mental and moral degrada- 
tion I could not well sink. Despised by all, I despised and hated 

4-43 



444 DOING RIGHT 

in my turn ; and doggedly flung back to the world the contempt 
and scorn which it so profusely heaped on my head. 

Such was my pitiable state at this period, — a state appar- 
ently beyond the hope of redemption. But a change was about 
to take place, — a circumstance which eventually turned the 
whole current of my life into a new and unhoped for channel. 

Here let me pause : Reader, this has been a sad and awful 
revelation ; my cheeks have burned with shame, as I have written ; 
and I have been strongly tempted to tone down, or draw a veil 
over portions of this narrative, but I have told the truth, plain 
and unvarnished. As I look back to 1842, twenty-seven years 
ago, it seems almost a hideous dream ; I can hardly realize my 
identity with the staggering, hopeless victim of the terrible vice 
of intemperance ; but the scars remain to testify the reality ; 
yes, scars and marks never to be eradicated ; never to be re- 
moved in this life. Saved I may be so as by fire, yet the scar 
of fire is on me ; the nails may be drawn, but the marks are there. 
Do I not bear about with me the remembrance of these days? 
Yes, always. I never rise to speak but I think of it ; the more I 
mingle with the wise, the pure, the true, — the higher my aspira- 
tions, — the more intense is my disgust and abhorrence of the 
degradation of those seven years of my fife from eighteen to 
twenty-five. I am intensely social in my nature, and enjoy 
the society of friends keenly ; yet often in the midst of the pleas- 
ant social circle, the ghost of the past comes gliding before me, 
and words seem to be hissed in my ear : "What is your record ? " 
I believe this to be one reason why I shrink from society ; why 
I have so often refused kind invitations ; why, though I love 
my personal friends as strongly and as truly as any man's friends 
are ever loved, I have so steadily withdrawn from social parties, 
dinners, or introductions. This is the penalty I must ever pay. 

A man can never recover from the effects of such a seven 
years' experience, morally or physically. Lessons learned in 
such a school are not forgotten ; impressions made in such 



A FIGHT WITH A DEMON 445 

a furnace of sin are permanent ; the nature so warped in such 
crooked ways must retain in some degree the shape ; lodgments 
are made by such horrible contacts and associations that noth- 
ing but the mighty spirit of God can eradicate. Young men, I 
say to you, looking back at the fire where I lay scorching, — at 
the bed of torture, where the iron entered my soul, — yes, 
looking back at the past ; standing, as I trust I do, under the 
arch of the bow, one base of which rests on the dark days, and 
the other I hope on the sunny slopes of paradise, — I say to 
you, in view of the awful evil spreading around you, beware ! 
Tamper not with the accursed thing, — and may God forbid 
that you should ever suffer as I have suffered, or be called to 
fight such a battle as I fought for body and soul. 

The month of October had nearly drawn to a close, and on its 
last Sunday evening I wandered out into the streets, pondering 
as well as I was able to do — for I was somewhat intoxicated — 
on my lone and friendless condition. My frame was much 
weakened by habitual indulgence in intoxicating liquors, and 
little fitted to bear the cold of winter, which had already begun 
to come on. But I had no means of protecting myself against 
the bitter blast, and, as I anticipated my coming misery, I stag- 
gered along, houseless, aimless, and all but hopeless. 

Some one tapped me on the shoulder. An unusual thing 
that, to occur to me ; for no one now cared to come in contact 
with the wretched, shabby-looking drunkard. I was a disgrace, 
— "a living, walking disgrace." I could scarcely believe my 
own senses when I turned and met a kind look ; the thing was 
so unusual, and so entirely unexpected, that I questioned the 
reality of it, — but so it was. It was the first touch of kindness 
which I had known for months ; and, simple and trifling as the 
circumstance may appear to many, it went right to my heart, 
and, like the wing of an angel, troubled the waters in that stag- 
nant pool of affection, and made them once more reflect a little 
of the light of human love. The person who touched my shoulder 



446 DOING RIGHT 

was an entire stranger. I looked at him, wondering what his 
business was with me. Regarding me very earnestly, and appar- 
ently with much interest, he said : 

"Mr. Gough, I believe?" 

"That is my name," I replied, and was passing on. 

"You have been drinking to-day," said the stranger, in a 
kind voice, which arrested my attention, and quite dispelled 
any anger at what I might otherwise have considered an officious 
interference in my affairs. 

"Yes, sir," I replied, "I have." 

"Why do you not sign the pledge?" was the next query. 

I considered for a minute or two, and then informed the 
strange friend, who had so unexpectedly interested himself 
in my behalf, that I had no hope of ever again becoming a sober 
man ; that I was without a single friend in the world who cared 
for me, or what became of me ; that I fully expected to die 
very soon, — I cared not how soon, or whether I died drunk 
or sober ; and, in fact, that I was in a condition of utter reck- 
lessness. 

The stranger regarded me with a benevolent look, took me 
by the arm, and asked me how I should like to be as I once was, 
respectable and esteemed, well clad, and sitting, as I used to, in 
a place of worship ; enabled to meet my friends as in old times, 
and receive from them the pleasant nod of recognition as for- 
merly, — in fact, become a useful member of society? "Oh," I 
replied, "I should like all these things first rate; but I have no 
expectation that such a thing will ever happen. Such a change 
cannot be possible." 

"Only sign our pledge," remarked my friend, "and I will 
warrant that it shall be so. Sign it, and I will introduce you 
myself to good friends, who will feel an interest in your welfare 
and take a pleasure in helping you to keep your good resolu- 
tions. Only, Mr. Gough, sign the pledge, and all will be as I 
have said; ay, and more too." 



A FIGHT WITH A DEMON 447 

Oh ! how pleasantly fell these words of kindness and promise 
on my crushed and bruised heart. I had long been a stranger 
to feelings such as now awoke in my bosom. A chord had been 
touched which vibrated to the tone of love. Hope once more 
dawned; and I began to think, strange as it appeared, that 
such things as my friend promised me might come to pass. On 
the instant I resolved to try, at least, and said to the stranger : 

"Well, I will sign it." 

"When?" he asked. 

"I cannot do so to-night," I replied, "for I must have some 
more drink presently; but I certainly will to-morrow." 

"We have a temperance meeting to-morrow evening," he 
said ; "will you sign it then ? " 

"I will." 

"That is right," said he, grasping my hand; "I will be there 
to see you." 

"You shall," I remarked, and we parted. 

I went on my way much touched by the kind interest which, 
at last, some one had taken in my welfare. I said to myself : 
"If it should be the last act of my life, I will perform my 
promise and sign it, even though I die in the attempt; for 
that man has placed confidence in me, and on that account 
I love him." 

I then proceeded to a low groggery in Lincoln Square hotel, 
and in the space of half an hour, drank several glasses of brandy ; 
this, in addition to what I had taken before, made me very 
drunk, and I staggered home as well as I could. 

Arrived there, I threw myself on the bed and lay in a state 
of insensibility until morning. The first thing which occurred 
to my mind on awaking was the promise I had made on the 
evening before, to sign the pledge ; and feeling, as I usually did 
on the morning succeeding a drunken bout, wretched and deso- 
late, I was almost sorry that I had agreed to do so. My tongue 
was dry, my throat parched, my temples throbbed as if they 




448 DOING RIGHT 

would burst, and I had a horrible burning feeling in my stomach 
which almost maddened me, and I felt that I must have some 
bitters or I should die. So I yielded to my appetite, which 
would not be appeased, and repaired to the same hotel where I 
had squandered away so many shillings before ; there I drank 
three or four times, until my nerves were a little strung, and 
then I went to work. 

All that day, the coming event of the evening was continu- 
ally before my mind's eye, and it seemed to me as if the appetite 
which had so long controlled me exerted more power over me 
than ever. It grew stronger than I had at any time known it, 
now that I was about to rid myself of it. Until noon I strug- 
gled against its cravings, and then, unable to endure my misery 
any longer, I made some excuse for leaving the shop, and went 
nearly a mile from it in order to procure one more glass where- 
with to appease the demon who so tortured me. The day wore 
wearily away, and when evening came, I determined, in spite of 
many a hesitation, to perform the promise I had made to the 
stranger the night before. The meeting was to be held at the 
lower town hall, Worcester ; and thither, clad in an old brown 
surtout, closely buttoned up to my chin, that my ragged habili- 
ments beneath might not be visible, I went. I took a place 
among the rest, and, when an opportunity of speaking offered 
itself, I requested permission to be heard, which was readily 
granted. 

When I stood up to relate my story, I was invited to the stand, 
to which I repaired ; and, on turning to face the audience, I 
recognized my acquaintance who had asked me to sign.. It was 
Mr. Joel Stratton. He greeted me with a smile of approbation, 
which nerved and strengthened me for my task, as I tremblingly 
observed every eye fixed upon me. I lifted my quivering hand, 
and then and there told what rum had done for me. I related 
how I was once respectable and happy, and had a home ; but 
that now I was a houseless, miserable, scathed, diseased, and 



A FIGHT WITH A DEMON 449 

blighted outcast from society. I said scarce a hope remained 
to me of ever becoming that which I once was ; but, having 
promised to sign the pledge, I had determined not to break 
my word, and would now affix my name to it. In my palsied 
hand I with difficulty grasped the pen, and, in characters almost 
as crooked as those of old Stephen Hopkins on the Declaration 
of Independence, I signed the total abstinence pledge, and re- 
solved to free myself from the inexorable tyrant, — rum. 

Although still desponding and hopeless, I felt that I was 
relieved from a part of my heavy load. It was not because I 
deemed there was any supernatural power in the pledge which 
would prevent my ever again falling into such depths of woe as 
I had already become acquainted with, but the feeling of relief 
arose from the honest desire I entertained to keep a good reso- 
lution. I had exerted a moral power which had long remained 
lying by, perfectly useless. The very idea of what I had done 
strengthened and encouraged me. Nor was this the only im- 
pulse given me to proceed in my new pathway ; for many who 
witnessed my signing and heard my simple statement came 
forward, kindly grasped my hand, and expressed their satis- 
faction at the step I had taken. A new and better day seemed 
already to have dawned upon me. 

As I left the hall, agitated and enervated, I remembered 
chuckling to myself, with great gratification, "I have done it, 
— I have done it !" There was a degree of pleasure in having 
put my foot on the head of the tyrant who had so long led me 
captive at his will; but, although I had "scotched the snake," 
I had not killed him ; for every inch of his frame was full of 
venomous vitality, and I felt that all my caution was necessary 
to prevent his stinging me afresh. 

I went home, retired to bed ; but in vain did I try to sleep. 
I pondered upon the step I had taken, and passed a restless 
night. Knowing that I had voluntarily renounced drink, I 
endeavored to support my sufferings, and resist the incessant 



45o DOING RIGHT 

craving of my remorseless appetite as well as I could ; but the 
struggle to overcome it was insupportably painful. When I 
got up in the morning, my brain seemed as though it would 
burst with the intensity of its agony ; my throat appeared as 
if it were on fire ; and in my stomach, I experienced a dreadful 
burning sensation, as if the fires of the pit had been kindled 
there. My hands trembled so, that to raise water to my feverish 
lips was almost impossible. I craved, literally gasped, for my 
accustomed stimulus, and felt that I should die if I did not 
have it ; but I persevered in my resolve, and withstood the temp- 
tations which assailed me on every hand. 

Still, during all this frightful time, I experienced a feeling 
somewhat akin to satisfaction at the position I had taken. I 
had made at least one step towards reformation. I began to 
think that it was barely possible I might see better days, and 
once more hold up my head in society. Such feelings as these 
would alternate with gloomy forebodings and "thick coming 
fancies" of approaching ill. At one time hope, and at another 
fear, would predominate ; but the raging, dreadful, continued 
thirst was always present, to torture and tempt me. 

After breakfast, I proceeded to the shop where I was employed, 
feeling dreadfully ill. I determined, however, to put a bold face 
on the matter, and in spite of the cloud which seemed to hang 
over me, attempt work. I was exceedingly weak, and fancied, 
as I almost reeled about the shop, that every eye was fixed upon 
me suspiciously, although I exerted myself to the utmost to 
conceal my agitation. I was suffering; and those who have 
never thus suffered cannot comprehend it. The shivering of 
the spine ; then flushes of heat, causing every pore of the body 
to sting, as if punctured with some sharp instrument ; the hor- 
rible whisperings in the ear, combined with a longing cry of the 
whole system for stimulants: "One glass of brandy would 
steady my shaking nerves ; I cannot hold my hand still ; I can- 
not stand still ; a young man but twenty-five years of age, and 



A FIGHT WITH A DEMON 451 

I have no control of my nerves; one glass of brandy would 
relieve this gnawing, aching, throbbing stomach; but I have 
signed the pledge, — 'I do agree that I will not use it,' — and I 
must fight it out." How I got through the day I cannot tell. 
I went to my employer and said : 

"I signed the pledge last night." 

"I know you did." 

"I mean to keep it." 

"So they all say, and I hope you will." 

"You do not believe I will ; you have no confidence in me." 

"None whatever." 

I turned to my work broken-hearted; crushed in spirit, 
paralyzed in energy, feeling how low I had sunk in the esteem 
of prudent and sober-minded men. 

In about a week, I gained, in a great degree, the mastery over 
my accursed appetite; but the strife had made me dreadfully 
weak. Gradually my health improved, my spirits recovered, 
and I ceased to despair. Once more was I enabled to crawl into 
the sunshine ; but, oh, how changed ! Wan cheeks and hollow 
eyes, feeble limbs and almost powerless hands, plainly enough 
indicated that between me and death there had indeed been but 
a step ; and those who saw me, might say as was said of Dante, 
when he passed through the streets of Florence: "There's the 
man that has been in hell." 

— John B. Gough. Adapted. 



Who hath woe? Who hath 


sorrow ? Who 


hath 


conten- 


tion? 








Who hath complaining? Who hath wounds without 


cause ? 


Who hath redness of eyes ? 








They that tarry long at the wine. 








— Proverbs 


xxiii. 29-30. 



452 DOING RIGHT 

i. Who was John B. Gough? 

2. What does he say of his early life? 

3. What bad habit had he acquired? 

4. Tell what happened to change his life. 

5. What promise did he make ? 

6. Give an account of his fight to keep the pledge. 



THE GREAT REFORMER 

On the last day of October, in the year 15 17, a German monk 
posted a paper on a church door in Wittenberg. It was written 
in Latin, and was addressed to theologians. It contained a 
series of statements concerning the doctrine and practice of in- 
dulgences. The writer desired to have the matter discussed. 
It seemed to him that there was something wrong about it, and 
he would be glad to hear what wiser men might say. Here, he 
said, are indulgences preached and sold throughout the Church : 
is it right? is it in accordance with the gospel and the truth? 
The paper was a question. 

Now the meaning of an indulgence was this. Every sin de- 
serves the punishment of God. The sure consequence of sin — 
so the priests said — is eternal suffering in hell. But by the 
grace of God, and the cross of Christ, and the ministry of the 
Church, there is a way of escape. Every sin may be forgiven, 
if the sinner is truly sorry and repents. In order, however, to 
obtain this forgiveness, the repentant sinner, they said, must 
confess his sin to a priest, and be, by him, assured of the pardon 
of God, and in addition must do what the priest tells him as 
a penance. The priest, in the old time, told him to fast, or to 
give money to the poor, or to go on a pilgrimage. In the days of 
the crusades, sinners were told that, in the place of the former 
penances, they might enlist as soldiers in the armies which were 
going to the Holy Land to take Jerusalem from the Turks. By 
and by, they were told that they might be assured of forgiveness 
if they paid the expenses of somebody else who was willing to go 



THE GREAT REFORMER 453 

in their place. Then they were told they might gain the same 
blessing by giving money for some other good purpose ; for ex- 
ample, for the building of a church. These substitutes for the 
old penances were called indulgences. 

Gradually and naturally, this doctrine gave rise to grave 
errors and evils. One of the errors was that simple and ignorant 
people easily believed that the forgiveness of God was gained, 
not by repentance, but by indulgence. If they sinned, they 
could make it right, they thought, and escape punishment by 
the payment of money. And this payment, they imagined, 
would affect them, not only in this world, but in the world to 
come ; and would obtain pardon not only for themselves, but 
for others who had gone already into that other world. One of 
the evils was that this error was made a means of raising money 
for the Church. People gladly paid for the building of cathe- 
drals- and monasteries in the belief that they were thereby gain- 
ing forgiveness for their sins and salvation for their souls and 
for the souls of their friends. 

So when Pope Leo X wished to raise a great sum of money for 
the rebuilding of St. Peter's Church at Rome, he undertook to 
do it by the sale of indulgences. It seemed as right in those days 
to build a church by means of indulgences as it seemed right in 
this country a hundred years ago to build a church by means 
of lotteries. The raising of this money in Germany was put 
into the hands of a man named Tetzel. He was a frank, straight- 
forward person, with a better head for business than for reli- 
gion, but with a great ability to appeal to the people. He knew 
how to speak to crowds. Tetzel took the doctrine of indul- 
gences as he found it, and used it, as the phrase is, for all it was 
worth. He went about as a revival preacher goes to-day, hav- 
ing preparations made for his coming, enlisting all the minis- 
ters of the place, and holding great meetings. But his purpose 
was simply to get money. He began by preaching about sin 
and about hell. Now, he said, what have you done? All sins 



454 DOING RIGHT 

may be forgiven. Here is the promise of the pope, here are 
letters of indulgence, here is the opportunity for a little money 
to save your souls. And your friends, — perhaps you have a 
father, or a mother, perhaps you have children, gone into the 
other world, in purgatory, — you may save them also. "Do 
you not hear your dead parents crying out : ' Have mercy upon 
us? We are in sore pain, and you can set us free for a mere 
pittance'?" 

This was what Martin Luther had in mind when he posted 
his paper concerning indulgences on the church door in Witten- 
berg. 

Luther was already one of the foremost men in the Church 
in Germany. Born the son of a miner, among hills filled with 
copper, he had made his way by his own efforts through school 
and college, and had begun to study law. Suddenly, amidst 
the terrors of a thunderstorm, he had changed his mind and had 
given himself to the ministry. He had entered a monastery in 
Erfurt. There he had gone through long seasons of deep depres- 
sion, trying to save his soul by fasting and pain and prayer. 
For days he went without food, for nights he went without 
sleep, hoping thus to gain the good will of God. He was terribly 
afraid of God, and feared that he would be lost at last in the 
torments of hell. But in the monastery he found wise advisers. 
One good brother said: "Martin, you are a fool. God is not 
angry with you; it is you who are angry with God." Another 
good brother, Staupitz, the head of the monastery, to whom Lu- 
ther cried, "Oh, my sin, my sin, my sin!" replied, "You have 
no real sin. You make a sin out of every trifle." Staupitz 
urged him to trust in the mercy and love of God, who freely 
forgives those who put their faith in Christ. He saw also that 
what Luther needed was an active life, and to be occupied, not 
in thinking about himself, but in ministering to others. 

Then Staupitz became dean of the theological faculty of the 
University of Wittenberg, and he called Luther out of the monas- 



THE GREAT REFORMER 455 

tery to be professor of logic and ethics. Presently he sent him 
on an errand to Rome, to see a bit of the great world. On his 
return Luther took his degree of doctor of divinity, and began 
to preach in the city church. He was appointed to teach the- 
ology to the young monks in the Wittenberg monastery, and 
men came to be instructed by him until the place was over- 
crowded. When he was but thirty-one he was made district 
vicar, and put in charge of eleven monasteries. His hands 
were full of business. Then Staupitz made him his successor 
in the chair of biblical theology. 

There was already a new interest in the study of the Bible, 
and Luther entered into his new duties with enthusiasm, learn- 
ing Greek and Hebrew, and reading all the latest books. He was 
at the same time the most popular preacher in the town, and 
the most popular professor in the university ; and his fame began 
to go abroad. He had a practical mind, and was interested, not 
only in doctrine, but in conduct. And he had a remarkably 
strong and free and original way of expressing himself. Thus 
he criticized the common way of thinking about the saints. 
Instead of trying to be like them, people were praying to the 
saints to help them. "We honor them," said Luther, "and call 
upon them only when we have a pain in our legs or our head, or 
when our pockets are empty." 

This was the man who posted on his church door a proposi- 
tion that the theologians should look seriously into the matter of 
indulgences. 

Luther's thesis, as his paper was called, set all Europe talk- 
ing. People were ready for great changes. It was as when the 
spring comes after a long winter, and the brooks begin to flow, 
again, and the grass grows green, and buds appear upon the 
trees. The invention of the mariner's compass had enabled 
Columbus to steer due west across the Atlantic, and the new 
land which he had discovered showed that the world was much 
bigger than men had thought. The invention of powder and 



456 DOING RIGHT 

of printing had given men a gun in one hand and a book in the 
other, which were changing the conditions of society. The plain 
man with the gun was able to face the knight on horseback, 
and the plain man with the book was able to test the teachings 
of the scholar. It was the day of a new independence. 

Thus, although Luther's questions as to the doctrine of in- 
dulgences were received by the theologians with suspicion and 
by the authorities with alarm, in both Church and the state, 
the common people heard them gladly. They were translated 
out of Latin into German. "In fourteen days," says Luther, 
"the theses ran through all Germany; for the whole world was 
complaining of indulgences." And of other matters also; of 
other evils in religion, against which there seemed to have at 
last appeared a leader. 

For the indulgences had been sold in the name of the pope, 
and by his authority ; and Tetzel, in defending them, had de- 
clared that the pope could do no wrong. "The pope," said 
Tetzel, "cannot err in those things which are of faith and neces- 
sary to salvation." And to this he added, "They who speak 
slightingly of the honor and authority of the pope are guilty of 
blasphemy." 

And the pope was against Luther. At first, he had considered 
the thesis as of no importance. "A drunken German wrote 
them," he is reported to have said. "When he is sober, he will 
think differently." The more he heard about the matter, the 
less he liked it. Then he summoned Luther to Rome to be put 
on trial. And Luther, being protected by his prince, the Elector 
Frederick, refused to go. 

Miltitz, on behalf of the pope, met him with persuasions to 
hold his peace. He told him that if he would change his mind 
the pope would make him a bishop, or an archbishop, or a car- 
dinal. Eck, on behalf of the pope, met him with arguments. 
He told him that his opinions were like those for which John 
Hus had been burned at the stake. 



THE GREAT REFORMER 457 

Luther, on his side, appealed, at first, from the pope ill in- 
formed to the pope better informed, and then from the pope to 
a general council of the Church. The question of indulgences 
fell into the background. The debate now turned upon the 
power of the pope. Was he indeed the representative of Christ 
on earth, in such a sense that his word was truth, and his will 
was law? Luther declared his determination to think for him- 
self, and to make up his own mind, and to say that which he 
believed to be right and true. He would be bound, he said, 
neither by the pope nor by the Church. He would be guided 
by the Bible and his own conscience. 

There are two ancient and universal parties in religion. On 
the one side are those who are interested in the institution, in 
services and sacraments, in customs and traditions. They were 
represented in the Old Testament by the priests, in the New 
Testament by the Scribes and Pharisees. On the other side 
are those who are interested in the individual, in the relation of 
religion to actual, present conditions. They were represented 
in the Old Testament by the prophets, in the New Testament by 
the apostles. The motto of one party is "It is written" ; they 
refer to law and authority, and desire to keep in the old ways. 
The motto of the other party is "It seems good to the Holy 
Ghost and to us"; they refer to the voice of God speaking in 
their own souls, and are ready to change as their knowledge of 
the truth changes, or their understanding of the needs of men. 
One party is conservative, the other progressive. They are 
both right, but they are never both right at the same time. Now 
the conservatives are right, and contend on the side of God 
against the progressives who are attacking that 'which is both 
old and true, and are throwing the Church into disorder. Now 
the progressives are right, and contend on the side of God against 
the conservatives who are maintaining that which is not only 
old but mistaken, and are trying to keep out the light, and are 
resisting reformation. 




458 DOING RIGHT 

In Luther's time it was the progressives who were right, and 
he was the leader of them. 

Matters came rapidly to a crisis. In 1520, the pope issued a 
bull of excommunication against Luther. The word bull is 
from the Latin bulla, meaning the leaden seal which was attached 
to important documents. It came to be applied to the docu- 
ments themselves. The effect of an excommunication was to 
expel the offender, not only from the Holy Communion, but 
from intercourse with his neighbors ; nobody was allowed to 
trade with him or speak to him. This, however, depended on 
public opinion. In order to make an excommunication effective, 
people must believe that the pope had the power to issue it, and 
that in issuing it he was expressing the will of God. Wherever 
this was not believed, the bull was worth no more than the paper 
on which it was written. Already there were so many persons 
in Germany who were disposed to disregard the pope, that 
Luther, when he received the bull, called together the profes- 
sors and students of the university and burned the thing. 

And so strongly was Luther supported by the nobles, the law- 
yers, the priests, and the people of Germany, that in spite of 
the excommunication he was permitted to plead his cause before 
the emperor, and the representatives of the states and cities 
of the land. The council met at Worms, and to that city Luther 
went in spite of dangers. He knew that he might be set upon 
by the way and killed : he knew that he might be condemned 
and burned alive, as Hus had been. He said afterwards, "Had 
I known as many devils would set upon me as there were tiles 
on the roofs, I should have sprung into the midst of them with 
joy." 

Thus he stood before the representatives and rulers of Church 
and state. A pile of books which he had published was upon 
the table. They asked him if he wrote them, and he said that 
they were his. They asked him if he was prepared to stand 
by all that he had written, and he answered that some of the 



THE GREAT REFORMER 459 

books were composed of sermons, concerning which nobody 
had raised a question : some were controversies with various 
persons, whom he had, perhaps, called harder names than was 
necessary, for he did not claim to be a saint ; some were against 
the pope ; he was prepared to stand by these, and to withdraw 
from them not a word. Nevertheless, he was willing to change 
his mind, if he could be proved wrong out of the Bible. "You 
demand a simple reply," he said, "and I will give it. Unless 
convinced by the testimony of Scripture or by clear reason, I 
cannot and will not revoke anything, for it is neither safe nor right 
to act against one's conscience. God help me. Amen." 

The result was a formal condemnation. Luther's books were 
to be burned, nobody was to be allowed to read them, 'he him- 
self was to be seized and sent to the emperor to be put in prison. 
Thus he was under the ban of the state as well as of the Church, 
and was declared an outlaw. This decision continued without 
repeal all the rest of Luther's life. But it had no more effect 
than the pope's bull. For even the laws of the civil courts 
depend on the will of the people. Luther lived all his days 
thereafter under the protection of the people. 

For the moment, however, it seemed prudent to remove him 
from the hands of his enemies. One night, as he was taking 
his journey, returning from Worms to Wittenberg, he was met 
in a lonely road by a company of armed horsemen, his compan- 
ions were put to flight, and he was taken by secret paths through 
the woods to the castle of the Wartburg. There he found him- 
self among friends, who had taken this way to bring him into 
a safe hiding place. He lived in this friendly imprisonment for 
nearly a year, while all the world wondered what had become of 
him. That he was still alive was made plain by the fact that 
he continued to write and publish letters, tracts, and pamphlets. 
One time the Archbishop of Mayence ventured to begin again 
the sale of indulgences, but on the receipt of a single letter from 
the hidden Luther he changed his plans in a fright. 



460 



DOING RIGHT 



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THE GREAT REFORMER 4 6i 

It was during his year in the Wartburg that Luther made 
his translation of the New Testament out of the Greek into Ger- 
man. Afterwards, with the help of others, he translated the 
Old Testament, completing the whole work in 1534. This be- 
came the Bible of the German people, and had the effect of 
determining the German language. It had been spoken in a 
great number of different dialects ; thenceforth it was spoken 
and written in the manner of Luther. And thus appearing 
in a form which became the German of old Germany, the Bible 
was brought into the possession of all the people. The prophets 
and apostles spoke to them in their own speech. 

Meanwhile, outside the Wartburg, and apart from the direc- 
tion of Luther, events of importance were taking place. The 
Reformation was becoming a general movement. When Luther 
returned, he found much of which he disapproved. Rising up, as 
he did, in the face of authority, and declaring his individual and 
independent conviction, other men were moved to follow his 
example. And they were as ready to disagree with Luther as 
Luther had been ready to disagree with Rome. The Protestants 
were divided amongst themselves. 

It was the desire of Luther to make few changes in religion. 
He felt that he and his followers were still in the Ancient Church, 
out of which, indeed, they had put the pope and the bishops 
and the superstition, but whose life and worship and ministry 
proceeded as before. But others, in the process of making 
changes, went on and on, till the difference between the old and 
the new became very great. They destroyed images and closed 
monasteries; they abandoned ancient customs, introduced 
strange services, and taught doctrines which had never been 
heard before. 

Luther opposed, not only these radicals, but the great com- 
pany of learned men called Humanists, who were led by Eras- 
mus. They were quietly trying to establish truth on a basis of 
reason, and to encourage men to think freely, relying on the 



462 DOING RIGHT 

good sense and the good will of men. Luther, however, denied 
the freedom of the will, and put in the place of the authority 
of the Church the authority of the Bible. His idea was that men 
were not to reason about religion, but to take it just as they found 
it in the Scriptures. Thus he lost the support of the scholars. 

At the same time the rebellion of Luther against the pope 
and the bishops was followed by men who rebelled against their 
employers and their masters. The Peasants' War was an up- 
rising of the poor against the rich. They went about with 
clubs and torches, destroying property and lives. Luther's 
enemies declared that this was the natural consequence of Lu- 
ther's teaching. He had cut the dikes of order and authority 
and obedience, they said, and, of course, the land was overflowed. 
Luther was as stout against the men who were claiming their 
right to live, as he was against those who were claiming their 
right to think. He denounced the peasants, and urged the 
princes to shoot them like mad dogs. 

Thus he had his limitations, like most people, and having 
led the people a little way could conduct them no farther. He 
did his great part, and others took up the work and continued 
it; as Columbus discovered America, but others settled it. 
Two things, however, Luther admirably taught. He taught 
the doctrine of salvation by faith, and the doctrine of the good- 
ness of the common life. 

When Luther came, men were being taught the doctrine of 
salvation by grace. Grace was a blessing given by God through 
the Church. It was bestowed by the priest in the sacraments. 
And that meant that the Church, the priests, and the sacraments 
were absolutely necessary to men in order to be saved. It 
made the Church a supreme power. Luther taught that salva- 
tion is by grace, but that grace is given to those who have faith. 
Faith is the act by which we perceive the love and forgiveness of 
God. It joins us to God ; it gives the believer peace and joy 
and assurance of salvation. And it is independent of all means. 



THE GREAT REFORMER 463 

It is between the individual and God, without the need of any 
priest. The love of God is revealed in the Bible, and it is set 
forth in the sacraments, but it is perceived by each person for 
himself. The effect of the doctrine was to set men free from 
the Church ; they could get along without it, Luther said. 

And this idea which made every man a priest to himself, 
and thus put away the distinction between the clergy and other 
people, made men see the goodness of all life. God is our father, 
and He made the world for us to enjoy. The Christian is not 
to turn his back upon it, and go out of it, but to enter into it 
freely and gladly, carrying on his business, having his family 
and friends, and behaving himself naturally. In a world where 
the ideal of a good life was a separation from all the common 
concerns and recreations of society, this was a new doctrine. 
"It looks like a great thing," said Luther, "when a monk re- 
nounces everything and goes into a cloister, carries on a life of 
asceticism, fasts, watches, prays, etc. On the other hand, it 
looks like a small thing when a maid cooks and cleans and does 
other housework. But because God's command is there, even 
such a small work must be praised as a service of God, far sur- 
passing the holiness and asceticism of all monks and nuns. 
For here there is no command of God, but there God's command 
is fulfilled, that one should honor father and mother and help 
in the care of the home." 

So Luther was married, and his wife, Katherine von Bora, 
made him a comfortable and happy home. Now he ate three 
good meals a day, and slept in a bed which was made up every 
morning, instead of once a year as when he lived alone. There 
he gathered his friends about him, and wrote his sermons and 
his books, and prepared the lectures which he gave in the Uni- 
versity of Wittenberg. There he planted a garden, and dug 
a well ; though Katherine could not persuade him to keep his 
study in order ; books and papers were always in a pile on his 
desk. He was busy unceasingly, directing a hundred enterprises, 



464 DOING RIGHT 

answering a hundred thousand questions, the counselor of 
Protestants. He was often depressed to see how, after all, the 
Reformation had not very much reformed the world, and he had 
his share of pain and sickness. 

Luther died in Eisleben, where he was born, and was buried 
in Wittenberg, where he lived most of his life. A great-hearted 
man, frank, sincere, full of courage and strength, often angry, 
often merry, loving God and his friends, and hating evil, he had 
the qualities of a soldier and of a pioneer. He will always be 
remembered as the man who broke the power of the Medieval 
Church. 

— George Hodges. 





TRUTH 




Peace if possible, 


but truth at any rate. 


— Martin Luther. 


And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free. 






— John viii. 33. 



1. Tell about the practice regarding indulgences. 

2 . What man opposed this ? 

3. What order did the pope issue ? 

4. What was the result of Luther's appearance before the council ? 

5. Where did he stay for a time? 

6. What great work did he accomplish during this year? 

7. What were some of his teachings? 

8. Mention his good qualities. 



JOYS OF HOME 

Sweet are the joys of home, 
And pure as sweet ; for they, 

Like dews of morn and evening, come 
To wake and close the day. 



THE PRODIGAL SON 465 

The world hath its delights, 

And its delusions, too ; 
But home to calmer bliss invites, 

More tranquil and more true. 

The mountain flood is strong, 

But fearful in its pride ; 
While gently rolls the stream along 

The peaceful valley's side. 

Life's charities, like light, 

Spread smilingly afar ; 
But stars approached, become more bright 

And home is life's own star. 

The pilgrim's step in vain 

Seeks Eden's sacred ground ! 
But in home's holy joys again 

An Eden may be found. 

A glance of heaven to see, 

To none on earth is given ; 
And yet a happy family 

Is but an earlier heaven. 

— John Bo wring. 

THE PRODIGAL SON 

And he said, A certain man had two sons : And the younger 
of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of thy 
substance that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his 
living. And not many days after, the younger son gathered 
all together and took his journey into a far country; and 
there he wasted his substance with riotous living. And when 



4 66 



DOING RIGHT 




M alitor. 



The Prodigal Son. 



THE PRODIGAL SON 467 

he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that country ; 
and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself 
to one of the citizens of that country ; and he sent him into his 
fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly 
with the husks that the swine did eat : and no man gave unto 
him. But when he came to himself he said, How many hired 
servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and 
I perish here with hunger ! I will arise and go to my father, and 
will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in 
thy sight : I am no more worthy to be called thy son : make 
me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to 
his father. But while he was yet afar off, his father saw him, 
and was moved with compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, 
and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have 
sinned against heaven, and in thy sight : I am no more worthy 
to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, 
Bring forth quickly the best robe, and put it on him; and put 
a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet : And bring the 
fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat, and make merry : For 
this my son was dead, and is alive again ; he was lost, and is 
found. And they began to be merry. Now his elder son was 
in the field : and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he 
heard music and dancing. And he called to him one of the 
servants, and inquired what these things might be. And he 
said unto him, Thy brother is come ; and thy father hath killed 
the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. 
But he was angry, and would not go in : and his father came 
out, and entreated him. But he answered and said to his father, 
Lo, these many years do I serve thee, and I never transgressed 
a commandment of thine ; and yet thou never gavest me a kid, 
that I might make merry with my friends : But when this thy 
son came, who hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou 
killedst for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, 
thou art ever with me, and all that is mine is thine. But it was 



468 DOING RIGHT 

meet to make merry and be glad ; for this thy brother was 
dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found. 

— Luke xv. n-32. 



A FRIEND OF THE INDIANS 

In the last century one of the great struggles was for justice 
to the American Indian. Little by little his lands were taken 
from him. He was driven westward from the East and east- 
ward from the West. Hemmed in by the encircling and ever- 
contracting lines of white encroachment, his hunting grounds 
were destroyed, the money promised him was squandered be- 
fore it reached him, or, if it reached him, was made an occasion 
of debauching him, his manhood was ruined by the trade in 
liquor, vices of which he never knew were introduced, and the 
solemn treaties made with him by the government were broken. 
At one of the councils between the government representatives 
and the chiefs of the Sioux, an aged Sioux, holding in his h^nds 
the treaties made with the Sioux, said: "The first white man 
who came to make a treaty promised to do certain things for 
us. He was a liar." He repeated the substance of each treaty, 
always ending with, "He lied." And his accusation was true. 

The Indians needed a friend who would fight for them in their 
struggle against the injustice and wrong with which they were 
forced to contend. And God raised up for them a defender. 
He tells us that as a small boy he had a foreshadowing of the 
battles he was to fight for his "poor Indians." 

"It was upon the occasion of a quarrel," he writes, "between 
a boy much older than myself and another half his size. Indig- 
nant at the unrighteousness of an unequal fight, I rushed upon 
the bully and in due season went home triumphant, but with 
clothes torn and face covered with blood. My dear mother, 
with an expression of horror upon her fine face, ran toward me 






A FRIEND OF THE INDIANS 469 

and, putting her arms around me, cried : ' My darling boy, what 
has happened? Why are you in this dreadful condition?' 
'Yes, I know it's bad,' was my answer ; 'but, mother, you ought 
to see the other fellow ! '" 

This boy was Henry Benjamin Whipple, the future bishop 
of Minnesota, and the unwearied friend and protector of the 
Indians. He was born in Adams, Jefferson County, New York, 
on February 15, 1822. He was educated at Oberlin College, 
and later entered the Episcopal ministry. 

His first preaching appointment was in Rome, New York. 
Then he went to Florida, and, working as he did always and 
everywhere for all sorts and conditions of men, gained a life- 
long interest in the negro. Next he went to Chicago and es- 
tablished a new church there, gathering the people in from the 
highways and hedges and visiting every shop and saloon and 
factory within a mile of his hall. To get hold of the railway 
men he studied the structure of steam engines. 

In 1859 Mr. Whipple was elected Bishop of Minnesota, and 
began his work in the fall. He immediately visited the Indians, 
of whom 20,000 lived in his diocese — the Chippewas, Sioux, and 
Winnebagoes — and saw for himself their dark condition. 

The Bishop chose Faribault as his headquarters, and had his 
first service there on February 19, i860. Though often opposed 
for his defense of the Indians, the Bishop won over all foes, 
and when in 1895 the General Convention of the Protestant 
Episcopal Church met in St. Paul, the delegates visited Fari- 
bault at the invitation of its citizens. How firm a hold the 
Bishop had gained upon the affections of the community was 
shown by what followed. There could be no better test of true 
character. One of the committee, a Roman Catholic, said, 
"There must be a four-horse carriage for our Bishop," and when 
it was suggested that the Bishop would think it unnecessary, he 
exclaimed, "The Bishop shall have a four-horse carriage if I 
pay for it myself." And when a Roman Catholic liveryman 



47Q DOING RIGHT 

was asked how many carriages he could furnish for the occasion, 
he answered, "You can have every horse and carriage in my 
stable without a dollar of expense." 

The Bishop had plenty of rough-and-tumble work to do in 
the early years. Among other things," he learned early to pull 
teeth and to practice a little medicine, and used his knowledge 
on his next visit at White Fish Lake. 

"After the service a chief came to me and, "with his hand on 
his cheek, said, 'Wibidakosi.' With a not unmingled sensation 
I boldly answered, 'I will help you.' He opened his mouth, 
and to my dismay I saw that the sick tooth was a large molar 
on the upper jaw. But 'in for a penny, in for a pound.' It was 
a comfort to remember that Indians never show signs of pain, 
no matter how great the agony. I followed to the letter all 
the good doctor's directions and I did pull. In spite of appear- 
ances I knew it was the 'ligaments' and not an artery that I 
had cut, but I used salt as heroically as I did the forceps, and it 
was with no small degree of satisfaction that I heard the old 
chief telling his people that ' Kichimekadewiconaye was a great 
medicine man.'" 

He was lost in winter storms on the prairie, and he roughed 
it to and fro across the plains and among the frontier settlements, 
without any thought of sparing himself, only rejoicing that he 
could preach the real gospel to hungry hearts, which often wel- 
comed it in earnest but homely ways. After a sermon preached 
in a town, an old woman said to him, with tears in her eyes, 
"Thank God, I got a good boost to-day." A border man once 
said to him, "There are two kinds of preaching, one with the 
lips and one with the life, and life preaching doesn't rub out." • 

In 1862 and again later there were outbreaks among the In- 
dians in Minnesota, in which fearful outrages were perpetrated, 
but which would never have occurred had there been just deal- 
ing with the Indians. Bishop Whipple spoke out for fair deal- 
ing and against all revenge. In so doing he did what was very 



A FRIEND OF THE INDIANS 



47i 



unpopular. He fearlessly met the hostility which his course 
aroused. When urged to omit his blackest charges against 
the nation for the wrongs inflicted on the Indians, he replied : 
"They are true and the nation needs to know them! And, 
so help me God, I will tell them if I am shot the next minute !" 
He made the charges before a gathering in Cooper Union, New 
York City, in 1868, and it led to the organization of the Indian 
Peace Commission. But, though he was firm, he was seeking 
not to arouse enmity but to produce friendship. He had a way 
of winning men which led Captain Wilkins to say to some fron- 
tiersmen whom he heard declare that they "must go down to 
Faribault and clean out that Bishop" : "Boys, you don't know 
the Bishop, but I do ; he is my neighbor, and I will tell you just 
what will happen when you go down to ' clean him out.' He will 
come on to the piazza and talk to you five minutes, and you will 
wonder how you ever made such fools of yourselves." The 
frontiersmen went no farther. 

Bishop Whipple believed that it was rum which made most 
havoc among the Indians. At one Indian council he spoke very 
plainly against the evils of the use of the fire water. The head 
chief of this band sometimes indulged in fire water, and, being 
a cunning orator, he arose and said : 

"You said to-day that the Great Spirit made the world and 
all things in the world. If he did, he made the fire water. Surely 
he will not be angry with his red children for drinking a little 
of what he has made." 

Bishop Whipple answered : 

"My red brother is a wise chief, but wise men sometimes say 
foolish things. The Great Spirit did not make the fire water. 
If my brother will show me a brook of fire water I will drink of 
it with him. The Great Spirit made the corn and the wheat, 
and put into them that which makes a man strong. The devil 
showed the white man how to change this good food of God into 
what will make a man crazy." 



472 DOING RIGHT 

The Indians shouted "Ho! ho! ho!" and the chief was 
silenced. 

The greater part of the work of his diocese was not among 
the Indians, but in the fast-growing cities and towns of the white 
people. Among them for nearly half a century Bishop Whipple 
went to and fro establishing churches and building up Christian 
institutions and winning men to Christ. This last was his con- 
stant work wherever he was. 

He was tactful in trying to win all men. Bishop Whipple tells 
the following story in his reminiscences, "The Lights and Shad- 
ows of a Long Episcopate" : 

"In the early days of my episcopate I often traveled by stage- 
coach, and my favorite seat was beside the driver. On one of 
these journeys from St. Cloud to Crow Wing the driver struck 
one of the wheel horses who was shirking his duty, accompanying 
the blow with a fearful curse. There were three passengers on 
top of the coach, and, waiting until they were absorbed in con- 
versation, I leaned toward the driver and said : 

"' Andrew, does Bob understand English?' 

"'What do you mean, Bishop?' was the response. 'Are you 
charring me ? ' 

" ' No,' I answered. ' I really want to know why the whip was 
not sufficient for Bob, or was it necessary to damn him?' 

"The man laughed and answered : 'I don't say it's right, but 
we stage drivers all swear.' 

"'Do you know what it is to be a stage driver?' I asked. 

"'I ought to know,' was the reply. 'I've done it all my life ; 
it's driving four horses.' 

"'Do you think that is all?' I asked. 

"'Well, it's all I have ever found in it,' was the reply. 

"I said : 'Andrew, there is a civil war going on and men are 
righting on the Potomac. There are five hundred troops at 
Fort Ripley, and there is no telegraph. There may be an order 
in this mail bag for these troops to go to the front. If they get 



A FRIEND OF THE INDIANS 473 

there before the next battle, we may win it ; if not, we may lose 
it. When you go down to-morrow there may be a draft in the 
mail bag for a merchant to pay his note in St. Paul. If the St. 
Paul man receives the draft, he will pay his note in Chicago, 
and the Chicago man in turn can pay his note in New York. 
But if this draft does not go through, some one may fail and 
cause other failures, and a panic may ensue. Andrew, you are 
the man whom God in His providence has put here to see that 
all this goes straight, and it is my opinion that you can do better 
than to use his name in cursing your horses.' 

"The. man said nothing for some time, and then, looking 
earnestly into my face, he said : 

'"Bishop, you've given me a new idea. I never thought of 
the thing in that way, and, God helping me, I will never use 
another oath.' 

"It changed the current of the man's life and he became an 
upright and respected citizen." 

His work was effective with men because they knew he loved 
and believed that God loved them. He also believed in the unity 
and fellowship of all who loved Christ. 

"The heaviest sorrows of my heart have come from a lack of 
love among brothers. When this love shall make men take 
knowledge of us that we have been with Jesus and compel them 
to say, 'See how these Churchmen love one another,' we may 
be, in God's hands, the instruments to heal these divisions which 
have rent the seamless robe of Christ. And when I plead for 
love, I plead for love of all who love Christ. Shall we not claim 
as our kinsman Carey, the English cobbler, who went out as the 
first missionary to India, and who translated for them the Bible ; 
and Morrison, the first missionary to China ; and David Living- 
stone, who died for Christ in heathen Africa ; and Father Da- 
mien, who gave his life to save lepers ; and the Moravians, who 
offered to be sold as slaves if the King of Denmark would permit 
them to carry the gospel to the black men?" 



474 DOING RIGHT 

In 1865, Bishop Whipple went abroad and visited Egypt. 
Five years later he was in Europe again. In 1888 he attended 
the Lambeth Conference of Bishops of the Anglican Church in 
England and preached the opening sermon. On this visit he was 
given the degree of Doctor of Laws by Cambridge University, 
and made an Indian speech which he said " the boys cheered like 
mad." In 1890 his health led him again to Europe and Egypt, 
and he was received by the Queen at Windsor Castle and preached 
in Westminster Abbey on his Indians. Seven years later he was 
in England again, preaching and working, and, as always, com- 
mending to men the love of their Heavenly Father. In 1899 
he was back once more, and for the last time, to represent the 
Protestant Episcopal Church at the Centenary of the Church 
Missionary Society of England. 

But, though he went to and fro, he never laid down the work 
of his own field, and in 187 1, after no little struggle of mind, 
refused to take the bishopric of the Hawaiian Islands offered 
by the Archbishop of Canterbury. It would have been a better 
climate for him, but he loved Minnesota, and at that time the 
Indians were a great and holy responsibility. When his health 
broke he got it repaired again, and his love of fishing, of which he 
was a master, and of open life helped to keep him strong. 

He was a man of bright and hopeful spirit. He said, at the 
close of his volume of reminiscences : 

"My readers may think me an optimist, but a Christian has 
no right to be anything else. This is God's world, not the devil's. 
It is ruled by One who is 'the Lord our Righteousness,' 'the 
same yesterday and to-day, yea, and forever.' . . . Ours is 
not a forlorn hope. We may out of the gloom of our perplexed 
hearts, cry, 'Watchman, what of the night ? ' But faith answers, 
'The morning cometh.'" 

Into the brightness of the city, where there is neither evening 
nor morning, but light forever, and fight without light of sun 
or light of moon to shine upon it, because the glory of God alone 



THE REAL GOOD 475 

lightens it, he passed on September 16, 1901, leaving behind him 
a great diocese as a memorial, and, what is even more than a 
great diocese, a great love in the hearts of men. 

• — Robert E. Speer. Abridged. 



And this commandment have we from Him, that He who 
loveth God love his brother also. 

— I John iv. 21. 



1 . How were the Indians treated ? 

2. What did they need? 

3. Who aided them? 

4. What other people did he help ? 

5. Why was Bishop Whipple's work effective? 

6. Tell the story of the Bishop and the stage driver. 

7. Learn the Scriptural motto on love following this story. 



THE REAL GOOD 

" What is the real good?" 
I asked, in musing mood. 
" Order," said the court; 
"Knowledge," said the school; 
"Truth," said the wise man; 
"Pleasure," said the fool; 
"Love," said the maiden; 
"Beauty," said the page; 
"Freedom," said the dreamer; 
"Home," said the sage; 
"Fame," said the soldier; 
"Equity," said the seer. 
Spake my heart full sadly — 
"The answer is not here." 




476 DOING RIGHT 



Then within my bosom 
Softly this I heard : 
"Each heart holds the secret; 
Kindness is the word." 

— John Boyle O'Reilly. 



Love suffereth long, and is kind. 

— I Corinthians xiii. 4. 



ST. FRANCIS AND THE SOLDAN 

In the time of St. Francis of Assisi all Christian men hated the 
Saracens, for they were a rich and powerful nation, and to them 
belonged the Holy Land. The Christians were continually 
fighting with them to regain possession of Jerusalem, and as the 
Saracens were very fierce and cruel, and the Christian fighting 
men were not much better, the wars between them were both 
long and bloody. 

Now St. Francis, who loved all living things, could not find it 
in his heart to hate the Saracens. Instead of hating them he 
pitied them because they were heathens and had never been 
taught the faith of Christ. At last he felt so sorry for them that 
he could bear it no longer, and he determined to leave his own 
country and go to the Saracens and tell them the story of the 
Savior's life. So taking with him twelve of his companions, he 
set sail for the Saracens' land. 

All traveling in those days was dangerous, for the roads were 
few and bad, and thieves and robbers were always on the lookout 
for any unarmed or lonely travelers; but if traveling on dry 
land was dangerous, a journey by sea was ten times more so. 
The ships were very small, and the sailors had no compasses or 



ST. FRANCIS AND THE SOLDAN 477 

maps by which they might steer their course, but sailed their 
ships by the sun by day and by the light of the moon and stars 
by night. So they never ventured far out to sea, but kept close 
inshore, thereby running great risk of being wrecked on a rocky 
coast. St. Francis and his companions passed through many 
dangers and adventures, and the twelve companions were horri- 
bly afraid. Again and again they begged to be put ashore ; but 
St. Francis, though he was so kind and gentle, was as brave as 
any soldier, and he refused to give the order to turn back. So 
they were obliged to endure their miseries as best they could till 
they arrived at their journey's end. At last they reached the 
Saracens' land, and, bidding good-by to the Captain and crew 
of the little ship, they left the seashore and directed their course 
inland. 

All the passes by which Christian travelers could enter the 
Saracens' country were guarded by soldiers, especially chosen 
by their King or Soldan for their fierceness and cruelty, so that 
any Christian who dared enter his dominions should immediately 
be caught and tortured or put to death. 

St. Francis and his companions had only gone a very short 
distance when a band of dark-faced warriors clad in bright armor 
and mounted on swift horses swept down upon them and 
took them all prisoners. The Captain roughly demanded what 
St. Francis and his companions were doing in the Saracens' 
country, and St. Francis answered that he had come to tell them 
about God and His Son Jesus Christ ; but the Captain did not 
believe him, and laughed him to scorn. "I know what you are," 
he said. "You are a spy sent by our enemies the Christians to 
spy out the land." All in vain St. Francis repeated that he 
hated war, and that he had come to tell them about love and 
peace. The Captain, not believing him, and seeing that St. 
Francis was the leader of the little band, had him seized and 
tortured, to try and force him to acknowledge that he was a 
spy; but it was to no purpose, for St. Francis bore it all as 



47$ DOING RIGHT 

bravely and uncomplainingly as he had done the perils of the 
voyage across the sea. 

The Captain and his soldiers did not know what to think of this 
brave man, who, no matter how much they hurt him, did not 
cry out or abuse them, but only said again and again : "I am no 
spy. I have come to tell you how God loved the world." They 
were so puzzled that at last they determined to take St. Francis 
and his companions before the Soldan, who was with the army a 
few miles away. The soldiers each took one of their prisoners 
behind him on his horse, and they rode straight for the Soldan's 
camp, which they soon saw before them in the distance. There 
were hundreds of white tents on the sand surrounding a little 
grass lawn, across which a little stream bubbled and sparkled, 
and in the middle of this green space was pitched a noble tent, 
hung with white silk, over which floated the green flag of the 
Saracens. The Soldan was sitting at the door of his tent in the 
cool of the evening, surrounded by his lords and captains. A 
dark and stately man was the Soldan, clad in silken robes, with 
a crown of gold upon his head. The Captain, halting his troop, 
dismounted and knelt humbly before his King. 

" Speak on, O Captain," commanded the Soldan. 

"Most noble Soldan," the Captain replied, "we seized these 
men as they were attempting to enter your dominions. They 
are Christians, and when I questioned their leader he told me a 
strange tale of coming to us in love and peace. We all know the 
love and peace of the Christians — it is the peace of fire and the 
sharp sword — so I believed him to be a spy ; but he denied the 
charge. So I took him and had him tortured to force him to 
confess the truth, but he would not, and he steadfastly denies 
that he is a spy. Therefore, King, knowing your wisdom, I 
thought it well to bring this strange man before you, that you 
may question him yourself." 

" Is this that my servants tell of you true, Francis ? Are you a 
spy?" asked the Soldan sternly. 



ST. FRANCIS AND THE SOLDAN 479 

"I am no spy, O King," replied St. Francis. "I have come 
from Italy, my own country, to tell you how God loves you, and 
sent His only Son to die for you." 

The Soldan was silent for a moment, and then turned to the 
Captain at his side. 

"Have you searched these men? Are they armed?" he 
asked. 

"0 King, the only things they carry are these crosses, as you 
see," he replied, pointing to the wooden crosses St. Francis and 
his companions wore at their sides. 

At that St. Francis, lifting his cross high in his hand (for he was 
now unbound), stepped boldly forward and spoke thus to the 
Soldan: "O King, I can prove that I am no spy, but a true 
servant of God. Cause a big fire to be made here in front of 
you, and let one of your servants walk with me through the fire, 
and he who is unburnt, his shall be the true God. I know that 
mine will prevail." 

Now the Soldan was a brave man, and he loved all brave men, 
and when he heard St. Francis he determined he should not be 
slain at once, but given a chance of proving the truth of his words. 
So he ordered a big fire to be got ready, and when it was set 
alight St. Francis prepared to step into it, but no one came for- 
ward to join him from the Saracens' side. The Soldan turned 
to the lords and captains surrounding him, and said: "Is there 
no one among my servants who will come forward and enter the 
fire with this man?" But there was silence, and no one stirred, 
and the Soldan saw that not one of the Saracens would venture 
into the fire with St. Francis. 

The great King looked searchingly at St. Francis as he stood 
before him by the fire. "Many Christian men have I met," 
said he, "but I have met them in fair fight, horse to horse and 
sword to sword, they wishing to kill me and I them ; but never 
before have I met a Christian like you. I will speak with you 
alone to-morrow, Francis. Take your prisoners and guard them 



480 DOING RIGHT 

carefully," he said, turning to the Captain, "and bring the man 
Francis to my tent at break of day." 

The Soldan was a very wise Prince, and he thought to himself, 
"I know that this Francis is a brave man, but I can see by his 
torn and ragged garments that he is also very poor. Maybe, if 
I tempt him with presents of gold and silver he will confess he is a 
spy, and will tell me which King or Prince among my enemies has 
sent him." So the next morning the Soldan caused great bags 
of gold and silver and precious stones to be brought into his 
tent, and when St. Francis was led before him he took him alone 
into the tent and there showed him all these riches. 

"You see this gold and silver and these precious stones," said 
the Soldan; "they shall all be yours if you will confess that 
you are a spy, and if you will tell me whence you came and who 
sent you." 

Then St. Francis, in his rough, torn garments, looked at the 
stately, gorgeous monarch with gentle, honest eyes. "Most 
noble sir," said he, "I do not want your gold and silver and pre- 
cious stones. I have told you the truth. I am no spy. God, 
whose poor servant I am, has sent me." 

The Soldan now felt sure that St. Francis was speaking the 
truth. He looked at him, and the longer he looked, the more 
astonished did he become. "Why," thought the Soldan to 
himself, "why should this man, who is evidently no strong 
warrior such as I have known among the Christians, why should 
this man come all the way from Italy to tell us about his God ? 
Truly He must be a wonderful God if He has many servants like 
Francis." Then, turning to St. Francis, he said: "Say on, 
Francis, and tell me of your God." And standing before the 
throne St. Francis told him about the things of God, and when he 
had finished speaking the Soldan said : "This is a marvelous tale 
you tell, O Francis, of a God who is not angry with the world, 
but gave His only Son to die for the people in it. What you 
say may be true, but who can tell — who can tell?" he said 



ST. FRANCIS AND THE SOLDAN 481 




" They Shall All Be Yours if You Will Confess That You Are a Spy." 



482 DOING RIGHT 

sadly, and he sighed deeply, and leaned his head upon his 
hand. 

St. Francis waited in silence, and then he humbly and earnestly 
begged the Soldan to give him permission to speak to the Sara- 
cens also of the things of God. For some moments the Soldan 
did not answer. Then he rose from his throne and called his 
soldiers to him, and commanded them that they were in no way 
to harm or molest St. Francis, and he gave him leave to go with 
his companions to any part of his kingdom. St. Francis and his 
companions, with grateful hearts, took leave of the Soldan and 
quickly departed, and went through all the Saracens' land teach- 
ing and preaching to the people. For many months St. Francis 
journeyed from place to place. He went through sandy deserts 
and crossed deep rivers, and everywhere he told the people 
about Christ; but the Saracens were dull and slow to believe 
his words. 

At last St. Francis, seeing he could do no more good among this 
heathen people, decided he would return to Italy ; so he gathered 
his companions together and took the road to the seacoast. 
But before he left the country he went to the Soldan to bid him 
farewell. No sooner did the Soldan hear that St. Francis was 
in the camp than he sent one of his soldiers to lead him 
before him. 

The King had never forgotten this small, delicate man in the 
ragged coat, who, with so brave a spirit, had come from far-off 
Italy, and he had thought continually of all St. Francis had told 
him of the birth and life and death of Jesus Christ. The more 
he thought, the more wonderful did the story seem, and he was 
overjoyed to see St. Francis again. After they had talked for 
a long time alone in the tent, the Soldan, looking gravely at St. 
Francis, said : "Brother Francis, I would most willingly belong 
to the religion of Christ, for I believe that what you tell me of 
Jesus is true ; but I fear to become a Christian because my soldiers 
would rise up and kill both you and me, with all your companions. 



ST. FRANCIS AND THE SOLDAN 483 

Now I do not wish to bring about your death and mine, for you 
can still do much good in your own country, and were I to die 
there would be no one left to guard my people from oppression 
and wrong. Tell me, therefore, brother Francis, what shall I 
do?" 

St. Francis thought in silence for some moments, and then he 
answered gravely : " You cannot forsake your people, O King, for 
you are wise and strong, and they are weak and foolish. You 
must protect the poor and helpless, and see justice done to all 
your subjects, and rule them in truth and honor. And now, 
most noble sir, I must go from you and return to my own coun- 
try. But when, by the death of my body, I have given back my 
soul to God, I will not forget you, King ; for when in your turn 
you come to die, I will send two of my companions, and they shall 
baptize you in the name of Christ ; and do you, in the meantime, 
think continually of the things I have taught you, so that you 
may be ready when my messengers come to you." This the 
Soldan promised to do , and St. Francis bade him farewell, 
and returned to Italy with the twelve companions. 

The Soldan kept his word most truly and faithfully. He took 
no thought for himself, but worked early and late for the good of 
his people, and he was greatly loved by them and greatly feared 
by his enemies. At last he grew very old and tired, and he felt 
that before long the promise St. Francis had made him would be 
fulfilled. So he told the soldiers who guarded the roads leading 
to Christian lands to watch for two poor men clothed in long 
garments, with wooden crosses hanging by their sides, and should 
these men come by they were to be led before him. 

Now at that time two of his companions dreamed that St. 
Francis, who had died long before, came down from heaven, and 
ordered them to go at once to the Soldan and baptize him into 
the Christian faith. So the companions set out immediately, 
clad in the long coats such as St. Francis and his companions had 
worn so many years before, and when they got to the Saracens' 



484 DOING RIGHT 

country they were stopped by the guards and taken before the 
Soldan. 

The Soldan was very glad when he saw the two companions, 
for he was tired with his hard work and long life, and longed to 
die a Christian and see St. Francis again. He said, "Now 
I know God has sent me His servants to baptize me into the 
faith of Christ, as the blessed Francis promised." After he had 
been baptized, in a great calm and peace he died. 

St. Francis of Assisi will always be remembered as one of the 
most gentle and tender of Christian saints. But the Soldan, 
who loved him, should not be forgotten either ; for he was a brave 
and noble ruler and a "very perfect knight." 

— C. R. Peers. 



Beloved, let us love one another ; for love is of God : and 
every one that loveth is begotten of God, and knoweth 
God. 

— I John iv. 7. 



1. Who were the Saracens? 

2. How did most Christians feel toward them? 

3. How did St. Francis regard them? 

4. What did he decide to do ? 

5. Tell about their voyage. 

6. What happened after landing? 

7. Where did the soldiers take St. Francis? 

8. Tell about his interview with the Soldan. 

0. How did St. Francis prove that he was telling the truth? 

10. What did the Soldan permit St. Francis to do? 

1 1 . What promise did he make the Soldan ? 

12. How was this promise fulfilled? 

13. What kind of ruler was the Soldan ? 

14. How will St. Francis be remembered ? 

15. Commit to memory the above s:riptural verse. 



JOHN LITTLEJOHN 485 



WORDS OF WISDOM 

My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not. 

Let not mercy and truth forsake thee : bind them about thy 
neck ; write them upon the table of thine heart : so shalt thou 
find favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man. 
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own 
understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall 
direct thy paths. Be not wise in thine own eyes : fear the Lord, 
and depart from evil. 

The path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more 
and more unto the perfect day. The way of the wicked is as 
darkness : they know not at what they stumble. 

Keep thy heart with all diligence : for out of it are the issues of 
life. 

These six* things doth the Lord hate : yea, seven are an abom- 
ination unto him : a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that 
shed innocent blood, an heart that devise th wicked imaginations, 
feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that 
speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren. 

— From the Book of Proverbs. 



JOHN LITTLEJOHN 

John Little john was stanch and strong, 
Upright and downright, scorning wrong ; 
He gave good weight, and paid his way, 
He thought for himself, and said his say. 
Whenever a rascal strove to pass, 
Instead of silver, a coin of brass, 
He took his hammer, and said with a frown, 
"The coin is spurious — nail it down !" 



;86 DOING RIGHT 

John Lit tie John was firm and true, 
You could not cheat him in "two and two" ; 
When foolish arguers, might and main, 
Darkened and twisted the clear and plain, 
He saw through the mazes of their speech 
The simple truth beyond their reach ; 
And crushing their logic, said, with a frown, 
"Your coin is spurious — nail it down !" 

John Littlejohn maintained the right, 
Through storm and shine in the world's despite 
When fools or quacks desired his vote, 
Dosed him with arguments learned by rote, 
Or by coaxing, threats, or promise tried 
To gain his support to the wrong side, 
"Nay, nay," said John, with an angry frown, 
"Your coin is spurious — nail it down ! " 

When told that kings had a right divine, 
And that the people were herds of swine, 
That nobles alone were fit to rule, 
That the poor were unimproved by school, 
That ceaseless toil was the proper fate 
Of all but the wealthy and the great, 
John shook his head, and said with a frown, 
"The coin is spurious — nail it down ! " 

WTien told that events might justify 

A false and crooked policy, 

That a decent hope of future good 

Might excuse departure from rectitude, 

That a lie, if white, was a small offense, 

To be forgiven by men of sense, 

"Nay, nay," said John, with a sigh and frown, 

"The coin is spurious — nail it down !" 



SELF-RELIANT YOUNG AMERICANS 487 

Whenever the world our eyes would blind 

With false pretenses of such a kind, 

With humbug, cant, or bigotry, 

Or a specious, sham philosophy, 

With wrong dressed up in the guise of right, 

And darkness passing itself for light, 

Let us imitate John, and exclaim with a frown, 

"The coin is spurious — nail it down ! " 

— Charles Mackay. 



Therefore I esteem all 


thy precepts 


concerning 


all things to 


be right, 








And I hate every false 


way. 










— Psalm 


cxix. 128. 



1. What kind of man was John Littlejohn? 

2. For what did he always stand ? 

3. What was his favorite saying ? 

4. When might we apply this motto ? 



PRUDENT AND SELF-RELIANT YOUNG AMERICANS 

One evening, in the spring of 181 1, the cry of fire was raised 
in the streets of Newburyport, a noble old town on the coast of 
Massachusetts. Only an unoccupied stable was in flames ; but 
the fire spread, and raged with astonishing fury for more than 
eight hours, until it had swept over a tract of sixteen acres and 
a half of the most closely built and densely populated quarter 
of the town. Two hundred and fifty buildings were consumed, 
among which were all the principal stores and public buildings. 
Among those who were burnt out on this occasion were three 
members of the numerous American family of Peabody. On£ of 
these was an uncle of the banker, who had been largely engaged 



488 DOING RIGHT 

in trade, and was totally ruined by this fire. Another was an 
elder brother, who had recently established himself in the dry- 
goods business ; and he also lost his all. The third was George 
Peabody himself, then a lad of sixteen, a clerk in his brother's 
store. He was born, as we all know, at Danvers, in Massachu- 
setts, in 1795, of parents in limited circumstances. As early as 
eleven years of age he was a boy in a grocery store, and at fifteen 
went to Newburyport to serve as clerk to his brother. It is not 
necessary to say that he acquired the rudiments of knowledge in a 
district school, because that is the case with all New England 
boys. 

It is an ill wind that blows nobody good. It is probable that 
the three Peabodys, uncle and two nephews, thought themselves 
ruined on the morning after the great fire of Newburyport. To 
the youngest of the three, however, it proved a most fortunate 
event. The uncle, bankrupt by the fire, removed to Georgetown, 
in the District of Columbia, taking the youth with him, and there 
again established himself in business. But as he was still liable 
for his old debts, the business was carried on in the name of 
George Peabody, still a minor. But this lad, it seems, had an 
old head on his young shoulders ; and it occurred to him that, 
by continuing in business with his bankrupt uncle, he would 
finally render himself liable for his debts. At the same time he 
had won the confidence of a Mr. Elisha Riggs, of Georgetown, 
who, capitalist as he was, entered into partnership with this 
cautious old man of nineteen, furnishing the capital, and leaving 
to the youth the chief management of the business. 

This seems strange. The explanation is, that George Peabody 
had a genius for making money and Elisha Riggs possessed dis- 
cernment enough to perceive it. The new firm had a rapid and 
striking success. On the return of peace, in 181 5, the house of 
Riggs and Peabody removed to Baltimore, where it had such 
prosperity that in seven years, when Mr. Peabody was but 
twenty-seven years of age, it had branch houses in New York 



SELF-RELIANT YOUNG AMERICANS 489 

and Philadelphia. In 1829, Mr. Riggs retired, and Mr. Peabody 
became the senior partner. As the house imported largely from 
Europe, Mr. Peabody was in the habit of going to London for 
the purchase of goods, and he saw such chances there that in 
1837 ne removed to London, where he established himself as a 
banker and merchant. He was forty-two years of age, and con- 
trolled a capital then considered large. 

He was scarcely settled in London, when the most terrible 
and disastrous financial revulsion occurred which the United 
States has ever experienced. I can just remember it. About 
the middle of March, we heard the first clap of thunder in the 
news that a great cotton house of New Orleans had failed for 
eight millions of dollars. Within a month, the whole Southwest 
was bankrupt. In Mobile, nine tenths of all the mercantile 
firms failed. In New Orleans, not one eminent house stood the 
test, and business was so completely paralyzed that three or 
four days would pass sometimes without a transaction in cotton 
or sugar. In New York, the merchants bravely resisted the 
pressure for six weeks, but at the beginning of May they failed 
by whole blocks in a day. There was a furious run on all the 
banks, until all except one were obliged to suspend. Of course, 
securities of all kinds, even of such solid States as Massachusetts, 
New York, Virginia, Tennessee, were borne down by the storm, 
and for several weeks some of them had scarcely any value in the 
market. 

This was George Peabody's first great opportunity. He knew 
the causes of the crash. He knew its precise nature and extent. 
He knew that his country was sound in principle, and rich in all 
the elements of wealth. Knowing this, he acted upon it ; and 
by investing freely in American securities when they were at the 
lowest point of depression, he did much toward restoring Ameri- 
can credit, and at the same time laid the foundation, or rather 
expanded and strengthened the foundation, of his subsequent 
colossal fortune. He was then, as always, a cool, quiet man, not 




490 DOING RIGHT 

susceptible to clamor or panic. He bought boldly but wisely, 
and his profit was great. Continuing the career thus happily 
begun, he was able in 1857 to repeat the tactics which had been 
so successful in 1837. The revulsion of 1857 was little other 
than a panic — a sudden fright, without adequate cause, and of 
short duration. But while it lasted it was severe, and it gave to 
a man like Peabody, established in London, far from the scene 
of disaster, golden opportunities which no man knew better how 
to improve than he. At the same time his ordinary business as a 
banker yielded him an ample revenue. With such chances, 
with such a head, it is not surprising that in a business career of 
forty-seven years' duration, he should have accumulated a for- 
tune out of which he could give away seven or eight millions 
without impoverishing himself. We must admit, therefore, 
that he gained his fortune in a way which the laws and usages of 
the modern world pronounced honorable. 

He had long before resolved, even while he was still a com- 
paratively poor man, that if he should ever become rich, he would 
give away a portion of his wealth to promote the happiness of 
his kind. He had reached his fifty-sixth year before he began 
to execute his intention. His first striking gift was bestowed in 
185 1, for fitting up the American Department of the Crystal 
Palace. Contributions from America were strewn about a wing 
of the building, and the American commissioner had arrived 
without money to put up a platform or a counter, for Congress 
had made no appropriation for the purpose. At this moment of 
embarrassment and mortification, Mr. Peabody came to the 
relief of the commissioner, and by advancing him twenty thou- 
sand dollars enabled him to make a respectable show. Since 
that day his benefactions have been frequent and large. The 
following is an imperfect list of them : 

In 1852, when Mr. Grinnell lent a ship to Dr. Kane for an 
expedition to join in the search for Sir John Franklin, Mr. 
Peabody gave ten thousand dollars for the equipment and 



SELF-RELIANT YOUNG AMERICANS 491 

provisioning of the vessel. In the same year, when his native 
town, Dan vers, celebrated its two hundredth anniversary, he 
sent twenty thousand dollars to found a library and lyceum, 
which he has since increased to two hundred thousand dollars. 

In 1857, ne made his first contribution toward the endowment 
of a similar institution in Baltimore, the funds of which he has 
since increased to a million dollars. 

In 1862, he gave a hundred and fifty thousand pounds for the 
benefit of the poor in London, and the sum was expended in the 
construction of improved tenement houses. He afterwards 
increased the fund to four hundred thousand pounds. 

In 1866, during a visit to his native country, he gave away 
several millions of dollars : twenty-five thousand to the Phillips 
Academy at Andover; fifteen thousand to the Newburyport 
library ; one hundred thousand to build a church in Georgetown 
in memory of his mother ; sixteen thousand to the Georgetown 
library ; one hundred and forty thousand to a scientific institute 
at Salem; twenty thousand to the Massachusetts Historical 
Society ; one hundred and fifty thousand to Harvard College ; 
the same sum to Yale College ; twenty thousand to the Maryland 
Historical Society; twenty-five thousand to Kenyon College, 
in Ohio ; and a million dollars to promote education in the 
Southern States, to which he afterwards added half a million 
more. 

While thus endowing public institutions, he distributed, it is 
said, a million four hundred thousand dollars among his kindred, 
thus handsomely atoning for any neglect of which he may have 
been guilty in earlier years. 



Old merchants complain that the ocean cable and the swift 
freight steamer have destroyed all chance for brilliant specula- 
tion in foreign commodities. If the price of indigo changes in 
Calcutta, it is known in London and New York on the same day 



49 2 DOING RIGHT 

and dealers in the article can tell pretty nearly how much indigo 
there is in existence, and about where it all is. They are also 
promptly informed of every change in the prospect of the com- 
ing crop. 

How different it was formerly ! When the War of 1812 came 
to an end, there was a firm of young merchants in Boston called 
A. & A. Lawrence, composed of two brothers, Amos and Abbott. 
The business had been founded about the year 1800 by Amos, the 
elder brother, who had received Abbott first as an apprentice 
and then as a partner, the partnership dating from the year 
1 8 14, when Abbott Lawrence was little more than twenty-one 
years of age. The firm had so hard a time during the war that 
Abbott Lawrence applied to the War Department for a commis- 
sion in the army ; but before his application had been answered 
came the joyful news of peace, and the brothers prepared to 
improve the chance which the return of peace had offered them. 
The market was bare of almost all foreign merchandise, and at 
that time nearly all merchandise, except food, was foreign. 
Even pins and needles had become exceedingly scarce, and of 
many fabrics the supply had long since given out: The Law- 
rences were importers, and they had abundant capital for their 
business, as well as unquestionable credit, the elder brother 
having been highly successful before the war. 

One of the first vessels to sail from Boston after the peace 
was the good ship Milo, and in this vessel Abbott Lawrence was 
a passenger. He was as handsome, as vigorous, and as enter- 
prising a young man of business as Boston then could show. 
The passage of the Milo was short. He was the first to go on 
shore, and was probably the first Bostonian who landed in Eng- 
land after the return of peace. He hurried on to Manchester, 
made his purchases with prompt dispatch, and returned to 
Liverpool the evening before the Milo was to sail on her voyage 
home. There was no time to be lost, for the vessel was already 
in the stream and full of freight. He hired a barge to take him 



SELF-RELIANT YOUNG AMERICANS 493 

and all his purchases out to the vessel ; but when he reached her 
the mate told him there was no room for his goods. Not only was 
all the cargo on board, but the hatches were battened down. 
The young merchant persisted in the endeavor to get his goods 
on board. He told the mate that as this was his first voyage it 
was of the greatest importance to him to be successful in his 
mission, and he urged his case with so much ardor that the 
officer, who had become very friendly to him on the voyage out, 
yielded to his desire. 

The young man sprang to the tackle, and helped the sailors 
hoist the bales of merchandise on board. As soon as he had seen 
them safe on deck, without waiting to know how or where they 
were to be stowed, he returned to the shore, as it was not his 
intention to go back to Boston so soon. In eighty-four days 
from the time of her leaving Boston, the ship Milo discharged 
from her wharf the goods bought in England by Abbott Lawrence, 
and iii less than a week they were all sold at a profit which one 
of his descendants describes as " enormous." His elder brother, 
who was of a calmer temperament, was greatly pleased with the 
good judgment displayed by the young man on this occasion, as 
well as by the rapidity of his movements. 

Abbott Lawrence remained abroad for some time and sent 
forward goods as his judgment dictated. He made a trip to the 
continent, where he saw the Prussian and English armies soon 
after the battle of Waterloo. During the few years following the 
general peace of 1815, the business of A. & A. Lawrence nourished 
exceedingly, and they laid the foundation of two. of the largest 
fortunes ever gained by Boston merchants in legitimate business. 

From this incident we can perceive what chances for inordinate 
gain foreign commerce occasionally afforded before there was 
electric communication between the continents. These chances, 
however, were rare, and became rarer. The occasional success 
of a timely venture made a great noise in business circles, and 
drew a great many men into attempting similar feats of enter- 



494 DOING RIGHT 

prise. As time went on, it became evident that commerce was 
an uncertain basis of a business career, and the merchants of 
Boston turned their attention to manufacturing the fabrics which 
tney had been accustomed to import from Europe. The firm of 
A. & A. Lawrence were among the leaders in this important move- 
ment. They became largely interested in the manufactures of 
Lowell, and were chiefly instrumental in founding the city of 
Lawrence, named after them. While Abbott Lawrence was 
still under forty years of age, his firm controlled a very large 
capital, and were among the chief business men of New 
England. 

The late Lord Lytton wrote a novel with the singular title, 
"What Will He Do With It?" The question, I believe, relates 
to a young man who has acquired fortune, and with fortune the 
opportunity to accomplish something of benefit to the world. 
Abbott Lawrence, in the vigor of his age, had gained this oppor- 
tunity, and he appears to have used it with a constant regard 
to his country's good. He lent the weight of his name and the 
aid of his capital to the early railroad enterprises of New England, 
which for some years had to contend with opposition, ridicule, 
and indifference. When, for example, it was proposed to con- 
struct a railroad between Boston and Albany, it was thought 
to be an enterprise for madmen only, and Abbot Lawrence was 
one of the able men who reconciled the capitalists of New Eng- 
land to undertaking it. The railroad between Boston and 
Lowell had just been completed, and was converting people to a 
belief in the system. Mr. Lawrence, in his speeches on this 
subject, pointed to the success of that road, and dwelt upon the 
effect of the Erie Canal upon the prosperity of the city of New 
York. He told the people in Faneuil Hall, in 1835, that the 
New York canals had doubled the value of real estate in the 
city of New York as soon as they were completed. Edward 
Everett spoke at this meeting, and in the course of his speech 
he said : 



SELF-RELIANT YOUNG AMERICANS 495 

"Don't talk of reaching Buffalo, sir. Talk of the Falls of St. 
Anthony and Council Bluffs !" 

At the close of the meeting, Abbott Lawrence said to Mr. 
Everett, in his ardent and confident manner : 

"Mr. Everett, we shall live to see the banks of the upper 
Mississippi connected by iron bands with State Street." 

At the time when these words were spoken, there were few 
indeed who believed them. The ability and public spirit which 
Mr. Lawrence had shown in advocating improvements caused 
him to be nominated to Congress in 1837. He was elected by 
the Whig party, and he supported its measures with ability and 
zeal. He served for a few years as minister to England, where 
he maintained a liberal establishment, and was highly popular. 
Like all able men of business, he was an advocate of giving just 
compensation to men of ability who were employed in the public 
service. In his speech urging the introduction of water into 
Boston, he scouted the idea of getting a cheap man to do dear 
work. He said : 

"I have done many things in my time. I have expended a 
great deal of money on buildings, machinery, canals, railroads, 
and such things. I cannot do these things myself. The first 
thing, then, that I have to do is to find a man in whom I can place 
confidence, a man of honesty, energy, and skill, and I found 
long ago that if I wanted such a man I must pay for him." 

He was a zealous friend of education. He was strong in the 
conviction that no nation can play a leading part in modern 
times, and continue to play it, except on condition of educating 
the whole mass of its people. He used to enunciate this truth 
in his public addresses in England, when he was minister there, 
with much effect. Toward the close of his life he contributed 
largely to the foundation and endowment of the Lawrence 
Scientific School connected with Harvard College, the institution 
which enjoyed the services for many years of Professor Agassiz. 
Indeed, we may say with truth that he made a noble use both 



496 DOIXG RIGHT 

of his influence and cf his wealth. There was scarcely any 
good cause or project of his time to which he did not lend a help- 
ing and often a munificent hand. 

— James Parton. Adapted. 



The prudent are crowned with knowledge. 

— Proverbs xiv. 18. 
PRUDENCE 

Prudence is the knowledge of things to be sought, and those 
to be shunned. 

— Marcus Tullius Cicero. 



i. What gave George Peabody his start in business life? 

2. How did his business grow ? 

3. Tell about the money panic in 1837. 

4. How did Peabody help America at that time ? 

5. Mention some of his public gifts. 

6. In what business were A. & A. Lawrence ? 

7. Tell of Abbott Lawrence's first trip to Europe. 

8. What line of business did he later enter? 

9. What city is named for the Lawrence brothers? 

10. What enterprise did Abbott Lawrence assist? 

11. WTiat public service did he render? 

12. Why were Peabody and Lawrence successful in business? 



THE STORY OF PATRICK HENRY 

"A King, by annulling or disallowing acts of so salutary a 
measure, from being the father of his people degenerates into a 
tyrant, and forfeits all right to his subjects' obedience." 

The young lawyer paused for an instant ; but in that instant 
men had sprung to their feet. "Treason! Treason!" came 
the cry from different parts of the crowded court room, and Mr. 
Lyons, the opposing counsel, appealed hotly to the bench where 
sat the young lawyer's own father as presiding justice. "Trea-. 



THE STORY OF PATRICK HENRY 497 

son; the gentleman has spoken treason," he cried. "Will your 
worships listen to that without showing your disapproval?" 

Their worships said nothing. Instead, they sat mute and 
spellbound under the surprising flow of eloquence from the lips 
of one whom they had considered neither orator, pleader, nor 
lawyer, but who now, at one bound and by a sudden burst of 
eloquence, sprang into popularity, fame, and leadership. 

The place was the stuffy little courthouse in the county seat 
of Hanover, in the Colony of Virginia ; the time was the first 
day of December, 1763 ; the man was Patrick Henry. 

He was arguing on the wrong side of an important case, in 
which both law and precedent were absolutely against him. It 
was a case of taxes, in which the council of the king of England 
had deliberately and contemptuously set aside a law made by 
the colony. In this case the king's council was right as to judg- 
ment, but wrong as to action. The law it "disallowed" was an 
unjust one ; but the high-handed manner in which king and 
council overruled and annulled it was not to be borne by the 
liberty and justice loving colonists who had enacted it. 

That was the way in which the matter appeared to Patrick 
Henry, when, as a forlorn hope, he took up a case which other 
lawyers would not touch. "The king of England has no right 
to meddle in the law-making of this colony. Virginia can look 
out for herself," he said; and in this spirit he defended a losing 
case and by his eloquence, earnestness, and argument overruled 
the judgment of the court, turned a defeat into victory, and 
won the case he had championed for his clients, the people. 

This celebrated case, known in American history as "the Par- 
son's Cause, " made the name and established the fame of Patrick 
Henry as a resistless pleader and an impassioned orator. Up 
to that date he had not been a success. The son of a Virginia 
gentleman of small means, young Patrick Henry was left to 
himself for amusement and education, obtaining a good deal 
more of the first than of the second. He was a careless, happy- 



498 DOING RIGHT 

go-lucky country boy of the pleasant region of middle Virginia, 
loving hunting and fishing more than study and loafing more than 
books, never succeeding at anything, and sticking to nothing 
long. He failed as a farmer, failed in business, married a tavern- 
keeper's daughter when he had nothing on which to support 
her, and, failing at everything else, hastily concluded to try the 
law. He failed even in his examinations for that, and was only 
admitted to the bar through the good nature of one of the 
examining lawyers and because of his own success at arguing 
the other out of a careless indifference. Such a man does not 
seem fitted to champion a great cause or teach new ideas to an 
energetic people. But something above the opportunity that 
lay beneath the Parson's Cause inspired and held young Henry ; 
it gave him an earnestness that surprised and an eloquence that 
electrified his hearers ; and those who hung their heads for 
shame when Patrick Henry began to speak, lifted him from the 
floor as he proceeded, and bore him out on their shoulders when 
he had concluded. 

From that day success and fame were his. He sprang into 
instant popularity as "the people's champion." Practice as a 
lawyer flowed in upon him ; he gained advancement in his own 
colony and power as a politician. He turned over a new leaf. 
He was no longer shiftless or unsteady. Popularity brought him 
business, and business brought him money ; as a result he became 
an influential country gentleman with an estate of his own, with 
admirers and supporters throughout Virginia, and with the 
ability to gratify his leanings towards political preferment that 
speedily gave him position and importance. He was elected 
a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses, or Legislature ; he 
became a political leader in Virginia, was sent as a delegate to the 
first and second Continental Congresses, was the first com- 
mander of Virginia's Revolutionary army, and was three times 
governor of Virginia. His fame spread throughout the land, 
and any office in the gift of the new nation might have been his 



THE STORY OF PATRICK .HENRY 499 

had he cared to accept it. But he wished for no office. He 
declined to serve as member of the Constitutional Convention, 
as United States senator, as secretary of state, as governor of 
Virginia for the fourth time, as chief justice of the United States, 
as ambassador to France, and as vice president of the United 
States. He declined, you see, even more than he accepted 
office. 

You know what gave him his greatest fame and led the people 
of the United States to know, to honor, and to respect him. It 
was his famous oration in old St. John's Church in Richmond, 
an oration that has not yet ceased ringing in the ears of Americans, 
and which, in certain of its impetuous utterances, has become a 
part of the proverbs and maxims of the Republic. Let me try 
to draw for you the picture of that remarkable speech in which he 
urged the arming of the Virginia militia in resistance to the 
British authorities; for, as Professor Tyler says, "it is chiefly 
the tradition of that one speech which to-day keeps alive, in 
millions of American homes, the name of Patrick Henry, and 
which lifts him, in the popular faith, almost to the rank of some 
mythical hero of romance." 

It is a plain and unpretending little church to-day as it stands 
almost on the summit of one of beautiful Richmond's sightly 
hills, — Church Hill, it is called, — at the corner of Broadway 
and Twenty-fourth Street. Small as it is, the church is to-day 
much larger than it was on that day in 1775 — Thursday, the 
twenty-third of March — when, rising to his feet, in the pew still 
shown to visitors and marked by a memorial tablet, Patrick 
Henry threw down the gauntlet to King George and declared 
war on the haughty prerogative of Great Britain. 

The second Revolutionary convention of Virginia was as- 
sembled in that old church on the hill in Richmond. The first 
convention had met at Williamsburg the year before and had 
sent to the Continental Congress such representative Virginians 
as George Washington, Richard Henry Lee, Benjamin Harrison, 



5oo DOING RIGHT 

and Patrick Henry, with others of equal ability, if of less prom- 
inence. There Patrick Henry, as pronounced an advocate of 
open resistance and organized protest as Samuel Adams, of 
Massachusetts, had advocated a union of all the colonies for 
mutual protection and defense against the aggressions of Eng- 
land, with equal representation and equal interests for all, saying 
grandly, as he pled for unity, "The distinctions between Vir- 
ginians, Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, and New Englanders are 
no more. I am not a Virginian, but an American !" 

And now the second Revolutionary congress of Virginia had 
met to debate upon the question whether Virginia should declare 
for peace or war. Everywhere, throughout the colonies, the 
people were restless; everywhere there was talk of resistance, 
and from Massachusetts Bay to Charleston harbor the local 
military companies were being organized for possible emergencies, 
and drilled to the use of arms. But prudence was keeping men 
back from act or speech that might be deemed aggressive ; 
prudence was still holding men loyal to the king. 

So, when the question of arming the rnilitia of Viriginia came 
up in the colonial convention, and Patrick Henry introduced a 
resolution "that this colony be immediately put into a posture 
of defense and a committee be appointed to prepare a plan for 
embodying, arming, and disciplining such a number of men as 
may be sufficient for that purpose," prudence interfered to 
prevent so menacing a move. 

"The resolution is premature," objected some of the more 
conservative members. "War with Great Britain may come," 
they said ; "but it may be prevented." 

"May come?" exclaimed Patrick Henry; "may come? It 
has come ! " And then, rising in his place, in that narrow pew in 
old St. John's, he broke out into that famous speech which now, 
as Professor Tyler remarks, "fills so great a space in the tradi- 
tions of Revolutionary eloquence." 

Tall and thin in figure, with stooping shoulders and sallow 



THE STORY OF PATRICK HENRY 501 

face, carelessly dressed in his suit of " parson's gray," Patrick 
Henry faced the president of the convention, who sat in the chan- 
cel of the church, and began calmly, courteously, and with 
dignity. 

"No man, Mr. President," he said, " thinks more highly than I 
do of the patriotism as well as the abilities of the very honorable 
gentlemen who have just addressed the house. But different 
men often see the same subject in different lights ; and, there- 
fore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen 
if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to 
theirs, I should speak forth my sentiments freely and without 
reserve." 

Then he flung aside courtesy and calmness. 

"This is no time for ceremony," he told them hotly. "The 
question before the house is one of awful moment to the country. 
For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of 
freedom or slavery. . . . 

"Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear 
of giving offense, I should consider myself," he declared im- 
pressively, "as guilty of treason toward my country, and of an 
act of disloyalty to the majesty of Heaven, which I revere above 
all earthly kings." 

Then he began his argument with that sentence which is still 
as a household word in the mouths of men : "Mr. President, it is 
natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope" ; and, showing 
how under existing circumstances hope was but a false beacon, 
and experience was the only safe guide, he called attention to the 
armament of England, and demanded: "I ask gentlemen, sir, 
what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us 
to submission?" 

Impressively he showed them '.hat England's display of might 
was meant for America, "sent over to bind and rivet upon those 
freemen chains which the British ministry have been so long 
forging." 



5 o2 DOING RIGHT 

He demanded how his associates intended to oppose this 
British tyranny. Argument had failed, entreaty and supplica- 
tion were of no avail, compromise was exhausted ; petitions and 
remonstrances, supplications and prostrations, were alike dis- 
regarded. " We have been spurned with contempt from the foot 
of the throne," he said. 

" There is no longer," he declared, " any room for hope. If we 
wish to be free, ... if we wish not basely--to abandon the noble 
struggle in which we have been so long engaged," — he paused, 
and then, as one of his hearers said, "with all the calm dignity of 
Cato addressing the senate; like a voice from heaven uttering 
the doom of fate," he added solemnly but decisively, — "we 
must fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to arms 
and to the God of Hosts is all that is left to us." 

Then, his calmness all gone, his voice deepening and his slender 
form swayed with the passion of his own determination, he flung 
himself into that fervent appeal for union in resistance that we 
all know so well : 

"Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a 
just God who presides over the destinies of nations, who will 
raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is 
not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. 
... It is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no 
retreat now but in submission and slavery. Our chains are forged. 
Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war 
is inevitable ; and let it come. I repeat it, sir, — let it come ! " 

Can you not almost hear that wonderful voice as it makes that 
terrible invitation with all the force of confident faith and re- 
pressed enthusiasm? Can you not almost see that swaying 
form, those forcible gestures, that face stern with purpose? 
Old men there were, years after its utterance, who could not 
forget that tremendous speech nor how, with their eyes riveted 
on the speaker, they sat, as one of them expressed it, "sick with 
excitement." 



THE STORY OF PATRICK HENRY 503 




Patrick Henry Delivering His Famous Speech. 



Rothermel. 



5o 4 DOING RIGHT 

And then came that ending — one of those immortal bursts of 
eloquence, a fitting climax to what had gone before : 

"It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, 
Peace, peace, but there is no peace ! The war is actually begun. 
The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears 
the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the 
field. Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen 
wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so 
sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? 
Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may 
take, but as for me give me liberty or give me death !" 

That wonderful speech has lived in men's memories and 
hearts for far over a hundred years. For other hundreds it will 
live as one of the trumpet calls leading men to fight for freedom 
or to die free men. To stand in that very pew in old St. John's, 
as I have done, and to recall that notable speech, thrills and 
inspires any true American. That speech has made Patrick 
Henry live forever as America's impassioned orator ; but better 
still, it turned Virginia, as in a flash, for independence, and made 
her stand side by side with Massachusetts, leaders and co-workers 
in the fight for liberty. 

How ready Patrick Henry was to live up to his grand principles 
of liberty or death we may discover in his story. From the con- 
vention he went speedily to the field. He was made commander 
in chief of Virginia's Revolutionary army, as George Washington 
was of the Continental forces, and almost the first overt act of 
the war in Virginia, so Thomas Jefferson declared, was committed 
by Patrick Henry. With five thousand hurriedly gathered 
minutemen he marched upon the king's governor, Lord Dun- 
more, at Williamsburg and demanded the stolen powder of the 
province or reparation for its loss ; and the king's governor 
wisely judged discretion to be the better part of valor and sent 
his receiver-general with three hundred and thirty pounds to 
pay for the stolen powder. Then he issued a proclamation de- 



THE STORY OF PATRICK HENRY 505 

daring "a certain Patrick Henry" an outlaw and rebel ; but the 
people of Virginia hailed the " outlaw" as their leader, and heaped 
him with honors, in the way of thanks and addresses. 

I have told you that Patrick Henry declined more honors than 
he accepted. One reason was, not that he could not march with 
the Republic, but because of continued ill-health, which so often 
dulls the edge of energy, makes a man critical, and keeps him 
dissatisfied. Alike the friend and critic of Washington, Patrick 
Henry was also friend and critic of the Republic he had helped 
to found, loving it for its liberty, but despairing, sometimes, of 
its future because things were not done as he would like to see 
them. 

He retired from public life largely because of criticism; for, 
you see, there was a great deal of criticism in the air in those early 
days of the Republic, and criticism of his acts was one thing that 
Patrick Henry could not stand. Impetuous as James Otis, 
determined as Samuel Adams, like both those fervent patriots 
Patrick Henry chafed under restraint and hated to have his 
motives called in question. There are, after all, very few such 
superbly patient, gloriously self-governed men as George Wash- 
ington and Abraham Lincoln. 

But impetuosity is sometimes inspiration. This, at least, was 
one cause of Patrick Henry's eloquence. As an orator he had 
remarkable powers ; but as a leader he was often uncertain and 
sometimes headstrong, to his own detriment and his country's 
peril. 

But after all, it is as one who moves by the magic of his words 
that Patrick Henry's claims to remembrance as an historic 
American chiefly rest. Above everything else he was an orator ; 
and it is as the orator of resistance, of liberty, and of patriotism 
that he has our loving and grateful reverence and will be remem- 
bered by America forever and ever. 

His later years were spent in peaceful pursuits upon his beauti- 
ful farm at Red Hill near historic Appomattox ; and there he died 



5o6 DOING RIGHT 

on the sixth of June, 1799, surrounded by loving friends and 
mourned by America as its chief and most effective orator in the 
stormy days of protest and revolution. 

— Elbridge S. Brooks. Adapted. 



LOVERS AND DEFENDERS OF LIBERTY 

God grants liberty only to those who love it, and are always 
ready to guard and defend it. 

— Daniel Webster. 



1. Give an account of Patrick Henry's early life. 

2. How did he first gain public notice? 

3. What honors came to him? 

4. Mention some offices he declined. 

5. What gave him his greatest fame? 

6. What did he tell the colonists they must do? 

7. For what were they preparing to fight? 

8. What office did he hold in the army of Virginia ? 

9. Tell about his visit to Lord Dunmore and the result. 
10. What prevented him from accepting many honors? 
n. Why did he retire from public life ? 

12. What criticism was made of him ? 

13. WTiat was Patrick Henry's finest trait of character? 

14. Quote some of his sayings. 

DEAR LAND OF ALL MY LOVE 

Long as thine art shall love true love, 
Long as thy science truth shall know, 
Long as thine eagle harms no dove, 
Long as thy law by law shall grow, 
Long as thy God is God above, 
Thy brother every man below, 
So long, dear land of all my love, 
Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow. 

— Sidney Lanier. 



NATHAN HALE 5°7 

NATHAN HALE 

The brief history of the life and death of Nathan Hale, the 
boy martyr of Connecticut, is the very saddest story of our 
Revolutionary War; but the record of those twenty-one years 
bears a message to every boy of American birth, for it is a record 
of purity of purpose, unselfish devotion to country, and deathless 
courage. 

On the 6th of June, 1755, there was born in the little town of 
Coventry, Tolland County, Connecticut, a boy baby whose hold 
on life seemed so slight that he was not expected to live. This 
boy was Nathan Hale, the sixth child of Richard Hale and his 
wife, Elizabeth Strong Hale. Despite the prophecies of doctors 
and nurses, however, little Nathan lived, though he was during 
childhood a frail little fellow, giving but small promise of the 
physical strength and beauty for which he was afterward noted. 

A strong love for out-of-door sports and athletic exercises was 
the chief factor, no doubt, in developing the fragile child into a 
youth of uncommon vigor of mind as well as body, for young 
Hale soon showed an ambition to excel in his studies as well as 
in his games and sports. 

His grandfather, who was a physician, and his great-grand- 
father, who was a clergyman, were both college-bred, having been 
graduated from Harvard ; so Nathan's fondness for books came 
by right of heredity, as did the strong fiber of Puritan thought 
and character that was a part of his personality. 

The Hales came down by descent from the Hales of Kent, 
England, whose coat-of-arms consists of three broad arrows 
feathered white on a field of red — a device strangely suggestive 
of the pure young life so swiftly ended by a violent death. Mr. 
and Mrs. Hale had decided that the ministry was the profession 
for which their son seemed especially fitted by nature and inclina- 
tion. So they placed him under the care of the Reverend Mr. 
Huntington, one of the most eminent Congregationalist divines of 



5 o8 



DOING RIGHT 




Statue of Nathan Hale. 
Connecticut Hall, in which he roomed at Yale, in the background. 



NATHAN HALE 509 

his time, and under that good man's direction young Hale pre- 
pared for Yale. So diligently did the youthful pupil apply 
himself to his tasks, and so earnest was his tutor, that at the age 
of sixteen Nathan Hale was ready to enter college. He was 
graduated from Yale in 1773 with the highest honors of the 
University, and carrying with him the respect and affection of 
the faculty as well as his associates. Indeed, his gracious and 
gentle manners won the love of those who knew him best and 
gained for him an entrance into the most aristocratic circles of 
New Haven society. Immediately after leaving Yale he taught 
school at East Haddam, and in 1774 he was appointed the first 
preceptor of the Union Grammar School at New London, Con- 
necticut, an institution where boys were prepared to enter Yale. 
Few lives seemed more peaceful than that of the young school- 
master, who was, meanwhile, making ready to become a preacher 
of the Gospel of Christ. How little did he dream that the lesson 
and the sermon he was to leave to the world would be the sacrifice 
of a life in the service of his country ! When the news of the 
battle of Lexington reached New London, there was great excite- 
ment among the people. A meeting was called at once, and it 
was the voice of the young schoolmaster that rang out with those 
stirring words that still echo down the corridors of time: "Let 
us march immediately and never lay down our arms until we 
have obtained independence!" This was the first time that 
Americans had heard the call to arms in a public assembly, and 
the call came from Nathan Hale, who was so soon to seal his 
faith with his blood. That must have been a dramatic scene 
in the town hall of New London that day. One can imagine 
the stern-looking men gathered in anxious knots, all heart- 
stirred by the strange news, yet scarcely knowing just how to 
express the thought in their minds, when the slender figure of 
Nathan Hale, his gentle face aglow with enthusiasm, his fair 
hair making a golden halo about the white brow, stepped forward 
and dared to utter those burning words. The next morning he 



510 DOING RIGHT 

was back in the schoolroom, where he prayed with the boys as 
was his custom, and where he resumed the course of his daily 
work ; but from the moment that he said : "Let us march !" a 
new purpose had come into his quiet life. Destiny was bearing 
him forward with long strides now — unto the end. Very soon 
after, he enrolled as a volunteer, and was shortly after appointed 
a lieutenant in Colonel Charles Webb's regiment. Going to 
Boston, Lieutenant Hale took part in the siege of that city, and 
was brevetted captain for gallant conduct. 

The year 1776 was a hard one on the soldiers of the Continental 
Army. On one occasion the men determined to go home at the 
expiration of their time, for there was no money to pay them. 
With the unselfishness that was always a characteristic of Hale, 
he offered to give them his month's pay if they would consent to 
stay and fight for the cause he so ardently loved. 

When the British evacuated Boston, a greater part of the 
American army went to New York, and it was there that the 
youthful captain of Webb's regiment performed a deed of daring 
rarely equaled in the records of the great American war. 

There was a terrible lack of food among our men, not enough 
tents to shelter more than a third of them, and almost no pro- 
visions for clothing them. The affairs of the Continental Army 
were as bad as possible. At this time there was anchored in 
East River, New York, a British sloop, lying under the protection 
of the man-of-war Asia, and this sloop contained provisions. 
Gaining permission from his commanding officer, Captain Hale 
undertook the capture of this sloop, an undertaking of the greatest 
danger. He managed, however, to infuse his own spirit of daring 
into a few of his comrades, and with a handful of trusty followers 
he embarked in a whaleboat at midnight and made directly for 
the sloop. Darkness favored the dangerous venture and Hale 
and his men drew up alongside without being seen by the Asia 
or the sloop. In a moment he and his men had boarded the 
sloop, taken the sentries and guards prisoners, and were bearing 



NATHAN HALE 5 11 

off the prize ! Cheer after cheer greeted the brave fellows — 
who were no doubt "marines" — as they hove in sight, and the 
provender on board was immediately distributed among the half- 
starving American soldiers. Soon after he was made captain 
of a company of Connecticut rangers which was known as 
"Congress's Own." 

There are conflicting statements in history concerning the 
latter part of Nathan Hale's army life. According to some 
authorities he took part in the battle of Long Island and in 
Washington's famous retreat across the East River from Brook- 
lyn. It is certain, however, that he was with the troops in 
New York when the British raided Long Island. 

It was at this time that Washington found it absolutely 
necessary to get accurate information, if possible, concerning 
the plans of the English, also a knowledge of the exact number of 
their forces. At the house of Mr. Robert Murray, on Murray 
Hill, he, therefore, called a meeting of officers to talk over the 
state of affairs and to form some plan by which such information 
might be obtained. The officers listened in silence to his plan, 
which was to send some trustworthy, bold man across the lines 
to find out the facts it was necessary to know. It would be 
necessary in order to accomplish this most dangerous commis- 
sion to go in disguise. Every man in the group knew the mean- 
ing of those words. Every cheek paled. If the venture failed 
and the messenger was captured, by the rules of warfare he 
would certainly be executed as a spy. The word spy is a 
horrible word to an honorable man. No one volunteered to 
risk a death of shame. For some moments there was a hush 
in the room. Then a voice broke the silence: "I will under- 
take it, sir," and the voice was that of young Nathan Hale, 
who was just up from a sick bed. A thrill of admiration pulsed 
through every heart, followed by one of dread. It was but a boy, 
a stripling, who had offered to risk a young life that was full of 
promise for the cause of American liberty. The older men did 



512 DOING RIGHT 

all they could to dissuade him, but Nathan Hale was firm in his 
resolve. " Gentlemen," he said calmly, "I owe my country the 
accomplishment of an object so important and so much desired 
by the commander of our armies. I know of no mode of ob- 
taining the information but by assuming a disguise and passing 
into the enemy's camp. I am fully aware of the consequences of 
discovery and capture in such a situation. I wish to be useful, 
and every kind of service for the public good becomes honorable 
by being necessary." 

That same night he left the camp at Harlem Heights dressed 
in the brown garments and broad-brimmed hat of a school- 
teacher seeking employment. He was accompanied as far as 
Norwalk by Sergeant Hempstead and his faithful servant, 
Ansel Wright, who arranged to have a boat awaiting him there 
on the twentieth of the month, when he expected to return. 
His charm of manner soon won the confidence of the people 
he met on the way, and in this disguise he entered the British 
lines, where he made drawings of the fortifications on thin paper, 
which he concealed between the layers of the soles of his shoes. 
He also secured the complete plans of the British campaign, 
which he wrote out in Latin and hid in the same way. Every- 
thing seemed to favor his hazardous undertaking. He had 
reached Norwalk, where he was to find the boat ready for him 
the next morning, and the young officer was serene in the thought 
that he was out of danger at last. 

Spending the night at a farmhouse, he went the next morning 
to breakfast at a little wayside inn, "The Cedars," kept by a 
widow, and which was known as the "Widow Chichester's." 
During the meal a man entered the room, looked steadily at the 
guest, and then left. Nathan Hale, who suspected no danger, 
finished his meal and then hurried off toward the beach. A boat 
was approaching, and he expected to find Hempstead and 
Wright awaiting him. As he approached he recognized the boat- 
men as British marines, and turned to fly. "Surrender or die !" 



NATHAN HALE 513 

called a voice, and he was seized and taken aboard. He knew 
then that the man at Widow Chichester's had betrayed him, and 
that his fate was sealed. When taken before General Howe at 
the house of James Beckman he was searched. The papers were 
found in the soles of his boots, and he was convicted as a spy. 

The Provost-Marshal, Cunningham, into whose hands the 
young American prisoner fell, was a brutal man. He ordered 
that Nathan Hale should be hanged at sunrise the following 
morning. He was confined under a strong guard in the large 
greenhouse of the Beckman mansion, which stood on the present 
site of Fifty-first Street and First Avenue, New York City. 

Hale asked to be allowed to write letters to his mother and to 
Alice Adams, his promised wife. The request was granted, but 
Cunningham tore up the letters before his eyes. He asked for a 
minister of God and the Bible, but both were refused him. 
Afterward Cunningham excused himself by saying he destroyed 
the letters because he did not want the Americans to know they 
had a man who could die so bravely. It is due to Howe to state 
that Cunningham acted independently in this matter. In the 
early Sabbath morning of September 22, 1776, Nathan Hale 
was hanged as a spy. With coarse brutality the Provost re- 
marked : "Make your dying speech." Hale had been praying. 
He lifted his eyes upward and said in a clear voice: "I regret 
that I have but one life to lose for my country." 

— Pauline C arrington B ouve . A dapted . 



FOR COUNTRY'S SAKE 

Far dearer the grave or the prison, 

Illumed by one patriot name, 
Than the trophies of all who have risen 

On liberty's ruins to fame. 

— Thomas Moore. 



5 1 4 DOING RIGHT 

i. Tell about Nathan Hale's boyhood. 

2. Where was he educated ? 

3. What did he do after leaving college? 

4. For what was he preparing himself ? 

5. When the Revolutionary War began, what did he do? 

6. Give an account of Hale's capture of the British sloop. 

7. What information did Washington need? 

8. Who volunteered for the errand ? 

9. How did this undertaking end ? 

10. What were Nathan Hale's last words? 



OLIVER CROMWELL 

Not long after King James I took the place of Queen Elizabeth 
on the throne of England, there lived an English knight at a place 
called Hinchinbrooke. His name was Sir Oliver Cromwell. 
He spent his life, I suppose, pretty 7 much like other English 
knights and squires in those days, hunting hares and foxes, and 
drinking large quantities of ale and wine. The old house in 
which he dwelt had been occupied by his ancestors before him 
for a good many years. In it there was a great hall, hung round 
with coats-of-arms and helmets, cuirasses and swords, which 
his forefathers had used in battle, and with horns of deer and 
tails of foxes which they or Sir Oliver himself had killed in the 
chase. 

This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who had been called 
Oliver, after himself, but who was generally known in the family 
by the name of little Noll. His father was a younger brother 
of Sir Oliver. The child was often sent to visit his uncle, who 
probably found him a troublesome little fellow to take care of. 
He was forever in mischief, and always running into some danger 
or other, from which he seemed to escape only by a miracle. 

Even while he was an infant in the cradle a strange accident 
had befallen him. A huge ape, which was kept in the family, 
snatched up little Noll in his fore paws and clambered with him 
to the roof of the house. There this ugly beast sat grinning at 



OLIVER CROMWELL 515 

the affrighted spectators, as if it had done the most praiseworthy 
thing imaginable. Fortunately, however, he brought the child 
safe down again ; and the event was afterwards considered an 
omen that Noll would reach a very elevated station in the 
world. 

One morning, when Noll was five or six years old, a royal 
messenger arrived at Hinchinbrooke with tidings that King 
James was coming to dine with Sir Oliver Cromwell. This 
was a high honor, to be sure, but a very great trouble ; for all 
the lords and ladies, knights, squires, guards, and yeomen who 
waited on the king were to be feasted as well as himself; and 
more provisions would be eaten and more wine drunk in that 
one day than generally in a month. However, Sir Oliver ex- 
pressed much thankfulness for the king's intended visit, and 
ordered his butler and cook to make the best preparations in 
their power. So a great fire was kindled in the kitchen; and 
the neighbors knew by the smoke which poured out of the chim- 
ney that boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, and frying were 
going on merrily. 

By and by the sound of trumpets was heard approaching 
nearer and nearer ; and a heavy, old-fashioned coach, sur- 
rounded by guards on horseback, drove up to the house. Sir 
Oliver, with his hat in his hand, stood at the gate to receive 
the king. His majesty was dressed in a suit of green not very 
new ; he had a feather in his hat and a triple ruff round his neck, 
and over his shoulder was slung a hunting horn instead of a 
sword. All together he had not the most dignified aspect in the 
world; but the spectators gazed at him as if there was some- 
thing superhuman and divine in his person. They even shaded 
their eyes with their hands, as if they were dazzled by the glory 
of his countenance. 

"How are ye, man?" cried King James, speaking in a Scotch 
accent; for Scotland was his native country. "By my crown, 
Sir Oliver, but I am glad to see ye!" 




516 DOING RIGHT 

The good knight thanked the king, at the same time kneeling 
down while his majesty alighted. When King James stood on 
the ground, he directed Sir Oliver's attention to a little boy who 
had come with him in the coach. He was six or seven years old, 
and wore a hat and feather, and was more richly dressed than the 
king himself. Though by no means an ill-looking child, he 
seemed shy or even sulky ; and his cheeks were rather pale, as 
if he had been kept moping within doors, instead of being sent 
out to play in the sun and wind. 

"I have brought my son Charlie to see ye," said the king. 
"I hope, Sir Oliver, ye have a son of your own to be his play- 
mate." 

Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the little prince, 
whom one of the attendants had now taken out of the coach. 
It was wonderful to see how all the spectators, even the aged 
men with their gray beards, humbled themselves before this 
child. They bent their bodies till their beards almost swept 
the dust. They looked as if they were ready to kneel down and 
worship him. 

The poor little prince ! From his earliest infancy not a soul 
had dared to contradict him ; everybody around him had acted 
as if he were a superior being ; so that, of course, he had imbibed 
the same opinion of himself. He naturally supposed that the 
whole kingdom of Great Britain and all its inhabitants had been 
created solely for his benefit and amusement. This was a sad 
mistake, and it cost him dear enough after he had ascended his 
father's throne. 

"What a noble little prince he is ! " exclaimed Sir Oliver, lifting 
his hands in admiration. "No, please your majesty, I have no 
son to be the playmate of his royal highness; but there is a 
nephew of mine somewhere about the house. He is near the 
prince's age, and will be but too happy to wait upon his royal 
highness." 

"Send for him, man ! send for him !" said the king. 



OLIVER CROMWELL 517 

But, as it happened, there was no need of sending for Master 
Noll. While King Charles was speaking, a rugged, bold-faced, 
sturdy little urchin thrust himself through the throng of courtiers 
and attendants and greeted the prince with a broad stare. His 
doublet and hose (which had been put on new and clean in honor 
of the king's visit) were already soiled and torn with the rough 
play in which he had spent the morning. He looked no more 
abashed than if King James were his uncle and the prince one of 
his customary playfellows. 

This was little Noll himself. 

"Here, please your majesty, is my nephew," said Sir Oliver, 
somewhat ashamed of Noll's appearance and demeanor. " Oliver, 
make your obeisance to the king's majesty." 

The boy made a pretty respectful obeisance to the king; for 
in those days children were taught to pay reverence to their 
elders. King James, who prided himself greatly on his scholar- 
ship, asked Noll a few questions in the Latin grammar, and then 
introduced him to his son. The little prince, in a very grave 
and dignified manner, extended his hand, not for Noll to shake, 
but that he might kneel down and kiss it. 

" Nephew," said Sir Oliver, "pay your duty to the prince." 

"I owe him no duty," cried Noll, thrusting aside the prince's 
hand with a rude laugh. " Why should I kiss that boy's hand ? " 

All the courtiers were amazed and confounded, and Sir Oliver 
the most of all. But the king laughed heartily, saying that 
little Noll had a stubborn English spirit, and that it was well 
for his son to learn betimes what sort of a people he was to rule 
over. 

So King James and his train entered the house, and the prince, 
with Noll and some other children, was sent to play in a separate 
room while his majesty was at dinner. The young people soon 
became acquainted ; for boys, whether the sons of monarchs or 
of peasants, all like play, and are pleased with one another's 
society. What games they diverted themselves with I cannot 



518 DOING RIGHT 

tell. Perhaps they played at ball — perhaps at blindman's 
buff — perhaps at leap frog — perhaps at prison bars. Such 
games have been in use for hundreds of years ; and princes as 
well as poor children have spent some of their happiest hours in 
playing at them. 

Meanwhile King James and his nobles were feasting with Sir 
Oliver in the great hall. The king sat in a gilded chair, under 
a canopy, at the head of a long table. Whenever any of the 
company addressed him, it was with the deepest reverence. 
If the attendants offered him wine or the various delicacies of 
the festival, it was upon their bended knees. You would have 
thought, by these tokens of worship, that the monarch was a 
supernatural being ; only he seemed to have quite as much need 
of those vulgar matters, food and drink, as any other person at 
the table. But fate had ordained that good King James should 
not finish his dinner in peace. 

All of a sudden there arose a terrible uproar in the room where 
the children were at play. Angry shouts and shrill cries of 
alarm were mixed up together ; while the voices of elder persons 
were likewise heard, trying to restore order among the children. 
The king and everybody else at table looked aghast ; for perhaps 
the tumult made them think that a general rebellion had broken 
out. 

"Mercy onus!" muttered Sir Oliver ; "that graceless nephew 
of mine is in some mischief or other. The naughty little whelp ! " 

Getting up from table, he ran to see what was the matter, 
followed by many of the guests and the king among them. They 
all crowded to the door of the play room. 

On looking in, they beheld the little Prince Charles, with his 
rich dress all torn and covered with the dust of the floor. His 
royal blood was streaming from his nose in great abundance. 
He gazed at Noll with a mixture of rage and affright, and at the 
same time a puzzled expression, as if he could not understand 
how any mortal boy should dare to give him a beating. As for 



OLIVER CROMWELL 519 

Noll, there stood his sturdy little figure, bold as a Hon, looking 
as if he were, ready to fight, not only the prince, but the king 
and kingdom too. 

"You little villain!" cried his uncle. "What have you been 
about? Down on your knees, this instant, and ask the prince's 
pardon. How dare you lay your hands on the king's majesty's 
royal son?" 

"He struck me first," grumbled the valiant little Noll; "and 
I've only given him his due." 

Sir Oliver and the guests lifted up their hands in astonishment 
and horror. No punishment seemed severe enough for this 
wicked little varlet, who had dared to resent a blow from the 
king's own son. Some of the courtiers were of the opinion that 
Noll should be sent prisoner to the Tower of London, and brought 
to trial for high treason. Others, in their great zeal for the king's 
service, were about to lay hands on the boy and chastise him in 
the royal presence. 

But King James, who sometimes showed a good deal of sa- 
gacity ordered them to desist. 

"Thou art a bold boy," said he, looking fixedly at little Noll ; 
"and, if thou live to be a man, my son Charlie would do wisely 
to be friends with thee." 

"I never will !" cried the little prince, stamping his foot. 

"Peace, Charlie, peace!" said the king; then addressing Sir 
Oliver and the attendants, "Harm not the urchin, for he has 
taught my son a good lesson, if Heaven do but give him grace 
to profit by it hereafter; should he be tempted to tyrannize 
over the stubborn race of Englishmen, let him remember little 
Noll Cromwell and his own bloody nose." 

So the king finished his dinner and departed ; and for many a 
long year the childish quarrel between Prince Charles and Noll 
Cromwell was forgotten. The prince, indeed, might have lived 
a happier life, and have met a more peaceful death, had he remem- 
bered that quarrel and the moral which his father drew from it. 



520 DOING RIGHT 

But when old King James was dead, and Charles sat upun his 
throne, he seemed to forget that he was but a man, and that his 
meanest subjects were men as well as he. He wished to have 
the property and lives of the people of England entirely at his 
own disposal. But the Puritans, and all who loved liberty, rose 
against him, and beat him in many battles, and pulled him down 
from his throne. 

Throughout this war between the king and nobles on one side 
and the people of England on the other, there was a famous 
leader, who did more towards the ruin of royal authority than 
all the rest. The contest seemed like a wrestling match be- 
tween King Charles and this strong man. And the king was 
overthrown. 

When the discrowned monarch was brought to trial, that 
warlike leader sat in the judgment hall. Many judges were 
present besides himself, but he alone had the power to save 
King Charles or to doom him to the scaffold. After sentence 
was pronounced, this victorious general was entreated by his 
own children on their knees, to rescue his majesty from 
death. 

"No !" said he sternly. "Better that one man should perish 
than that the whole country should be ruined for his sake. It 
is resolved that he shall die I" 

When Charles, no longer a king, was led to the scaffold, his 
great enemy stood at a window of the royal palace of Whitehall. 
He beheld the poor victim of pride, and an evil education and 
misused power, as he laid his head upon the block. He looked 
on with a steadfast gaze while a black-veiled executioner lifted 
the fatal ax and smote off that anointed head at a single 
blow. 

"It is a righteous deed," perhaps he said to himself. "Now 
Englishmen may enjoy their rights." 

At night, when the body of Charles was laid in the coffin, in a 
gloomy chamber, the general entered, lighting himself with a 



OLIVER CROMWELL 521 

torch. Its gleam showed that he was now growing old; his 
visage was scarred with the many battles in which he had led 
the van; his brow was wrinkled with care and with the con- 
tinual exercise of stern authority. Probably there was not a 
single trait, either of aspect or manner, that belonged to the 
little Noll who had battled so stoutly with Prince Charles. Yet 
this was he ! 

He lifted the coffin lid, and caused the light of his torch to 
fall upon the dead monarch's face. Then, probably his mind 
went back over all the marvelous events that had brought the 
hereditary King of England to this dishonored coffin, and had 
raised himself, a humble individual, to the possession of kingly 
power. He was a king, though without the empty title or the 
glittering Crown. 

"Why was it," said Cromwell to himself, or might have said, 
as he gazed at the pale features in the coffin, — " why was it that 
this great king fell, and that poor Noll Cromwell has gained all 
the power of the realm?" 

And, indeed, why was it? 

King Charles had fallen because, in his manhood the same 
as when a child, he disdained to feel that every human creature 
was his brother. He deemed himself a superior being, and 
fancied that his subjects were created only for a king to rule over. 
And Cromwell rose, because, in spite of his many faults, he mainly 
fought for the rights and freedom of his fellow-men ; and there- 
fore the poor and the oppressed all lent their strength to him. 

— Nathaniel Hawthorne. 



TRUE LIBERTY 

True liberty can exist only when justice is equally admin- 
istered to all. 

— Lord Mansfield. 



522 DOING RIGHT 

i. Who was Sir Oliver Cromwell? 

2 . What was his nephew called ? 

3. Tell about King James coming to dinner. 

4. Who came with the king ? 

5. How did little Noll act toward the prince? 

6. What trouble arose between them ? 

7. How did Charles treat his people when he became king? 

8. Who was leader of the Puritans? 
o. How did these two men differ ? 



LONDON, 1802 

Milton ! thou should'st be living at this hour : 

England hath need of thee : she is a fen 

Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, 

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower/ 

Have forfeited their ancient English dower 

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 

Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart ; 

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : 

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 

So didst thou travel on life's common way, 

In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 

The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 

— William Wordsworth. 



Mark the 


perfect 


man, and behold the upright. 

— Psalms xxxvii. 37. 




PRAYER FOR BEAUTY 


I pray thee, 


God, 


that I may be beautiful within. 

— Socrates. 



WHAT IS PRAYER? 523 

1. Who was Milton? 

2. Name some of his great poems. 

3. Who wrote this sonnet ? 

4. What is said of him in the last six lines ? 

5. Repeat the prayer of Socrates. 



WHAT IS PRAYER? 

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, 

Unuttered or expressed ; 
The motion of a hidden fire 

That trembles in the breast. 

Prayer is the simplest form of speech 

That infant lips can try ; 
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach 

The Majesty on high. 

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, 

The Christian's native air ; 
His watchword at the gates of death : 

He enters heaven with prayer. 

O Thou, by Whom we come to God, 

The Life, the Truth, the Way ! 
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod , 

Lord, teach us how to pray. 

— James Montgomery. 



Lord, teach us to pray. 

— Luke xi. 1. 



524 



DOING RIGHT 



vi. - ;. • 


Jr ' > s '.'■-;:" t 7> ' n - t ■■■■■-■ ■■-■ 


A - it X 


1 



© /SS5, JS00, J. J. Tissot. 

The Pharisee and the Publican. 



THE SONG OF THE MINSTER 525 

THE PHARISEE AND THE PUBLICAN 

And he spake also this parable unto certain who trusted in 
themselves that they were righteous, and set all others at nought : 
Two men went up into the temple to pray ; the one a Pharisee, 
and the other a publican. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus 
with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as the rest of 
men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican. 
I fast twice in the week ; I give tithes of all that I get. But 
the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his 
eyes unto heaven, but smote his breast, saying, God, be thou 
merciful to me a sinner. I say unto you, This man went down 
to his house justified rather than the other : for every one that 
exalteth himself shall be humbled ; but he that humbleth him- 
self shall be exalted. 

— Luke xviii. 9-14. 

THE SONG OF THE MINSTER 

When John of Fulda became Prior of Hethholme, says the old 
chronicle, he brought with him to the Abbey many rare and 
costly books — beautiful illuminated missals and psalters and 
portions of the Old and New Testament. And he presented rich 
vestments to the Minster ; albs of fine linen, and copes embroi- 
dered with flowers of gold. In the west front he built two great 
arched windows filled with marvelous storied glass. The shrine 
of St. Egwin he repaired at vast outlay, adorning it with garlands 
in gold and silver ; but the color of the flowers was in colored 
gems, and in like fashion the little birds in the nooks of the foliage. 
Stalls and benches of carved oak he placed in the choir ; and 
many other noble works he had wrought in his zeal for the glory 
of God's house. 

In all the western land was there no more fair or stately 



5 26 DOING RIGHT 

Minster than this of the Black Monks, with the peaceful town- 
ship on one side, and on the other the sweet meadows and the 
acres of wheat and barley sloping down to the slow river, and 
beyond the river the clearings in the ancient forest. 

But Thomas the Sub-prior was grieved and troubled in his 
mind by the richness and the beauty of all he saw about him, 
and by the Prior's eagerness to be ever adding some new work in 
stone, or oak, or metal, or jewels. 

" Surely," he said to himself, "these things are unprofitable — 
less to the honor of God than to the pleasure of the eye and the 
pride of life and the luxury of our house ! Had so much treasure 
not been wasted on these vanities of bright color and carved 
stone, our dole to the poor of Christ might have been fourfold, 
and they filled with good things. But now let our almoner do 
what best he may, I doubt not many a leper sleeps cold, and many 
a poor man goes lean with hunger." 

This the Sub-prior said, not because his heart was quick with 
fellowship for the poor, but because he was of a narrow and 
gloomy and grudging nature, and he could conceive of no true 
service of God which was not one of fasting and praying, of fear 
and trembling, of joylessness and mortification. 

Now you must know that the greatest of the monks and the 
hermits and the holy men were not of this kind. In their love 
of God they were blithe of heart, and rilled with a rare sweetness 
and tranquillity of soul, and they looked on the goodly earth 
with deep joy, and they had a tender care for the wild creatures 
of wood and water. But Thomas had yet much to learn of the 
beauty of holiness. 

Often in the bleak dark hours of the night he would leave his 
cell and steal into the Minster, to fling himself on the cold stones 
before the high altar ; and there he would remain, shivering and 
praying, till his strength failed him. 

It happened one winter night, when the thoughts I have spoken 
of had grown very bitter in his mind, Thomas guided his steps by 



THE SONG OF THE MINSTER 527 

the glimmer of the sanctuary lamp to his accustomed place in the 
choir. Falling on his knees, he laid himself on his face with the 
palms of his outstretched hands flat on the icy pavement. And 
as he lay there, taking a cruel joy in the freezing cold and the 
torture of his body, he became gradually aware of a sound of 
far-away yet most heavenly music. 

He raised himself to his knees to listen, and to his amazement 
he perceived that the whole Minster was pervaded by a faint, 
mysterious light, which was every instant growing brighter and 
clearer. And as the light increased the music grew louder and 
sweeter, and he knew that it was within the sacred walls. But 
it was no mortal minstrelsy. 

The strains he heard were the minglings of angelic instruments, 
and the cadences of voices of unearthly loveliness. They seemed 
to proceed from the choir about him, and from the nave and 
transept and aisles; from the pictured windows and from the 
clerestory and from the vaulted roofs. Under his knees he felt 
that the crypt was throbbing and droning like a huge organ. 

Sometimes the song came from one part of the Minster, and 
then all the rest of the vast building was silent ; then the music 
was taken up, as it were in response, in another part ; and yet 
again voices and instruments would blend in one indescribable 
volume of harmony, which made the huge pile thrill and vibrate 
from roof to pavement. 

As Thomas listened, his eyes became accustomed to the celes- 
tial light which encompassed him, and he saw — he could scarce 
credit his senses that he saw — the little carved angels of the 
oak stalls in the choir clashing their cymbals and playing their 
psalteries. 

He rose to his feet, bewildered and half terrified. At that 
moment the mighty roll of unison ceased, and from many parts of 
the church there came a concord of clear high voices, like a 
warbling of silver trumpets, and Thomas heard the words they 
sang. And the words were these — 



528 DOING RIGHT 

Tibi omnes Angeli. 

To Thee all Angels cry aloud. 

So close to him were two of these voices that Thomas looked 
up to the spandrels in the choir, and he saw that it was the carved 
angels leaning out of the spandrels that were singing. And as 
they sang the breath came from their stone lips white and vaporous 
into the frosty air. 

He trembled with awe and astonishment, but the wonder of 
what was happening drew him towards the altar. The beautiful 
tabernacle work of the altar screen contained a double range of 
niches filled with the statues of saints and kings ; and these, he 
saw, were singing. He passed slowly onward with his arms 
outstretched, like a blind man who does not know the way he is 
treading. 

The figures on the painted glass of the lancets were singing. 

The winged heads of the baby angels over the marble memorial 
slabs were singing. 

The lions and griffons and mythical beasts of the finials were 
singing. 

The effigies of dead abbots and priors were singing on their 
tombs in bay and chantry. 

The figures in the frescoes on the walls were singing. 

On the painted ceiling westward of the tower the verses of 
the Te Deum, inscribed in letters of gold above the shields of 
kings and princes and barons, were visible in the divine light, 
and the very words of these verses were singing, like living things. 

And the breath of all these as they sang turned to a smoke 
as of incense in the wintry air, and floated about the high pillars 
of the Minster. 

Suddenly the music ceased, all save the deep organ-drone. 
Then Thomas heard the marvelous antiphon repeated in the 
bitter darkness outside ; and that music, he knew, must be the 
response of the galleries of stone kings and queens, of abbots and 



THE SONG OF THE MINSTER 



5 2 9 




Rheims Cathedral. 



53Q DOING RIGHT 

virgin martyrs, over the western portals, and of the monstrous 
gargoyles along the eaves. 

When the music ceased in the outer darkness, it was taken up 
again in the interior of the Minster. 

At last there came one stupendous united cry of all the singers, 
and in that cry even the organ-drone of the crypt, and the 
clamour of the brute stones of pavement and pillar, of wall and 
roof, broke into words articulate. And the words were these : 

Per singulos dies, benedicimus Te. 

Day by Day : we magnify Thee, 

And we worship Thy name : ever world without end. 

As the wind of the summer changes into the sorrowful wail of 
the yellowing woods, so the strains of joyous worship changed 
into a wail of supplication ; and as he caught the words, Thomas 
too raised his voice in wild entreaty : 

Miserere nostri, Domine, miserere nostri. 

O Lord, have mercy upon us : have mercy upon us. 

And then his senses failed him, and he sank to the ground in a 
long swoon. 

When he came to himself all was still, and all was dark save 
for the little yellow flower of light in the sanctuary lamp. 

As he crept back to his cell he saw with unsealed eyes how 
churlishly he had grudged God the glory of man's genius and the 
service of His dumb creatures, the metal of the hills, and the 
stone of the quarry, and the timber of the forest ; for now he knew 
that at all seasons, and whether men heard the music or not, 
the ear of God was filled by day and by night with an everlasting 
song from each stone of the vast Minster : 

We magnify Thee, 

And we worship Thy name : ever world without end. 

— William Canton. 



OH COME, LET US SING! 531 



O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name 
together. 

— Psalms xxxiv. 3. 



1. Tell how John of Fulda beautified the church. 

2. How did Thomas regard this ? 

3. What happened to Thomas one night ? 

4. What lesson did he learn? 



OH COME, LET US SING! 

Oh come, let us sing unto the Lord ; 
Let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation. 
Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving ; 
Let us make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. 
For the Lord is a great God, 
And a great King above all gods. 
In his hand are the deep places of the earth ; 
The heights of the mountains are his also. 
The sea is his, and he made it ; 
And his hands formed the dry land. 
Oh come, let us worship and bow down ; 
Let us Kneel before the Lord our Maker : 
For he is our God, 

And we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand. 

— Psalm xcv. 1-7. 

Commit to memory the lines above. 
Commit to memory the hymn following. 




532 DOING RIGHT 



O WORSHIP THE KING! 

O worship the King all glorious above ; 
gratefully sing His power and His love ; 
Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of Days, 
Pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise. 

tell of His might, O sing of His grace, 
Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space ; 
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form, 
And dark is His path on the wings of the storm. 

The earth with its store of wonders untold, 
Almighty, Thy power hath founded of old, 
Hath stablished it fast by a changeless decree, 
And round it hath cast, like a mantle, the sea. 

Thy bountiful care, what tongue can recite ? 
It breathes in the air, it shines in the light ; 
It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain, 
And sweetly distills in the dew and the rain. 

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail, 
In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail ; 
Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end, 
Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend. 

— Robert Grant. 



A PRAYER 

Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we, 
Thine unworthy servants, do give Thee most 
humble and hearty thanks for all Thy good- 
ness and loving-kindness to us, and to all 
men ; we bless Thee for our creation, preserva- 
tion, and all the blessings of this life ; but 
above all, for Thine inestimable love in the re- 
demption of the world by our Lord Jesus 
Christ ; for the means of grace, and for the 
hope of glory. And, we beseech Thee, give us 
that due sense of all Thy mercies, that our 
hearts may be unfeignedly thankful ; and that 
we show forth Thy praise, not only with our 
lips, but in our lives, by giving up ourselves 
to Thy service, and by walking before Thee 
in holiness and righteousness all our days; 
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 



Printed in the United States of America. 
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